


Becoming Splinter

by eternallydaydreaming



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7939228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternallydaydreaming/pseuds/eternallydaydreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started as an ordinary day that ended with an unusual encounter that forever changed the man into the rat. Prequel to the 2012 series exploring the transformation of Hamato Yoshi into Splinter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enter the Rat

A/N: My interpretation of the prequel to the 2012 TMNT series and thus all references made will be consistent with the 2012 universe. This fic will attempt to explore what happens after the infamous mutation going into Splinter’s early life with the turtles. Enjoy! As always, I don’t own TMNT. I only own my imagination inspired by TMNT.

 

“Aaaaahhhh!” The pain was unbearable – excruciating! The green goo felt as if it were trying to burn holes through his skin as it ran down his arm and face. The moment he set eyes on them, his gut told him that these two suited men were up to no good but nothing prepared him for the threat to come. He had caught them plotting something though he could not hear their words, but it was enough for them to warrant a death sentence for Hamato Yoshi.

From the minute the suited strangers engaged him, the world up had been moved at a whirlwind pace of punches and kicks as he fought for his life all the while shielding a bowl of four baby turtles. However, as soon as his foot connected with the little canister in one man’s hand, the world slowed to a crawl. Yoshi’s eyes widened as he watched the canister flip through the air. Instinctually, he turned his back and shielded his face with one hand while the other still clung firmly to the small bowl. The canister crashed against him splashing the mysterious glowing green ooze all over him. His skin seared with an intolerable burn – a pain he had not felt in almost a year when his house was burnt to the ground. The flames had licked at his skin during his escape. The feeling was the closest to a hell on Earth as one could experience.

Agonizing screams echoed through the alley. Yoshi’s entire body racked in violent spasms. The bowl in his hand crashed to the ground, littering the pavement with shattered glass. Distracted by the immense pain, Yoshi lost track of his new pets, even forgetting their existence. 

His knees buckled and he slammed to the ground, landing on all fours. From the corner of his eyes he stared as his five-fingered human hands transformed: one digit suddenly retracted leaving only four, hair grew at an accelerated rate, and claws replaced his finger nails. Yoshi felt his face elongate into a snout and whiskers tickled the sides of his nostrils. His spine tingled from the base of his head and shot through his back, ending in his tailbone, which felt as though someone had grabbed the bone and was trying to rip it out of his rectum. While the mutation of his body lasted a mere couple of minutes, it felt as though the torture would never end. It was as if he was feeling every revision of his body during the deconstructing and rewriting of his DNA. He gasped for breath but it felt as if someone was sitting on his chest, compressing his lungs below his ribs. Yoshi trailed his eyes upward to the suited men whom emotionlessly observed the scene in front of them. They were neither mortified nor interested, neither dismayed nor elated by the end result. They just stared.

As soon as the pain subsided to a manageable level, Yoshi’s ninja senses took over. He leaped at one man, shoving his head against the wall. The second man pulled a gun out from under his jacket. At this point, animalistic instinct took over; Yoshi turned his back and flicked the gun away with a whip of his….tail? He pushed that detail to the back of his mind to be addressed later. Instead he opted to follow up with a firm roundhouse kick to the man’s ribs, earning him a satisfying crack. Yoshi smirked at his effort but the man still stood.

_How can this be possible? Does he not register pain?_

Yoshi’s brain began exploring what possible drug was strong enough to induce this level of pain-free intoxication all the while allowing him to maintain his wits in a fight. A growl reverberated through his throat yet the man stood undeterred. Then suddenly a van pulled up and screeched to a halt. The man glanced at his unconscious partner before making his hasty retreat to the van. As soon as he slid the side door closed, the van sped away.

Exhaustion overtook Yoshi’s body as he fell down to his knees. It wasn’t the battle that fatigued him; the transformation took its toll on his body. Shreds of clothing still clung to his body but his height and musculature seemed to have increased and had burst through the threading. Only the freshly grown coat of coarse fur protected his nearly nude body from the cold asphalt. 

_What a concept. Am I still naked if fur is nature’s clothing?_

He peered down in between his legs to a puddle of water. The reflection staring back was unrecognizable. He was no longer a 20-something year old Japanese man. Instead a brown furred rat stared back. The only recognizable feature left was his chocolate brown eyes. A hand groped the features to be sure his eyes were not deceiving him. His long trembling fingers traced the black stripes that graced his cheeks. As his new reality sank in, tears welled in his eyes and soft sobs escaped his throat.

America was supposed to be a fresh new start for Hamato Yoshi - a way to escape his past and start anew. He had only been in this foreign land for a few months – only long enough to find two menial jobs with a combined income sufficient enough to pay the rent on his small loft. He was living off of the basics. Fortunately he was not one who spent much his time in front of the television so he lived without cable. Electricity was reserved to power the refrigerator and, every once in a while, the lamp to light his way during late night bathroom visits. Otherwise he was satisfied with sitting by candle light as he read or meditated before retiring for the night. However as he searched for his place in this new land he found his nights growing increasingly more lonely. He should have been able to go home to a loving wife and be able to kiss his infant daughter, or would she have been a toddler by now? His life had been complete in Japan with Tang Shen and little Miwa. Now they were only memories. One rivalry had been taken too far, changing his life forever. The scene still haunted him: his wife murdered in front of his eyes, his house set ablaze, and the frightened wails of his baby girl as she burned inside. 

“Aaaaaahhhhh!” 

Sobs turned to anger-filled cries. As his fist pounded the ground, a piece of glass lodged itself beneath his sink. Wincing, Yoshi quickly retracted his hand. He cradled his hand to inspect his injury. Blood trickled down his hand and clung to his fur. He pinched the exposed glass between his index finger and thumb and pulled the shard out, releasing a pained grunt. He stared at the bloodied, concaved piece and soon recognized it as part of the dish that had held his new companions. Yoshi shook his head at the irony. He had just happened to pass by the store and noticed the sale sign for the turtles. His spirit stirred and, as if a magnetic force had taken over, guided him through the pet shop’s door. There they were – four baby turtles – and the price had been right! Perhaps they were on clearance to make way for a new display but it didn’t matter – they were in Yoshi’s budget! The spirits must have been smiling on him – such a blessing to be united with these beautiful creatures. Yet, just like everything else had in the past year, he too was robbed of the turtles. Yoshi snorted at himself.

“You have completely lost your humanity, and you’re concerned over turtles.”

The overgrown rat pushed himself to his feet, contemplating his next course of action. His instincts urged him to retreat to safety – his apartment. Could he sneak back undetected? Of course he could. He was a ninja! – a shadow warrior! The dark was his greatest ally. But did he have the same agility in his new form? He held out well enough in battle though he relied on pure adrenaline and brute force. Would he be able to rely on the same stealth tactics he had mastered as a human in this new, heavier form?

“Wa-wa-waaaa!”

Yoshi’s rat ears perked up at the sound, first soft but drastically increased in volume. 

_What was a child doing in an ally?_

Keeping to the shadows, he followed the sound toward a dumpster. Scattered around the dumpster were a few bags that had spilled over the overstuffed can. Yoshi pushed a few of the bags to the side, and his eyes widened at the sight. There he lay, faced down on the ground. Tears streamed down his green cheeks as his thumb frantically struggled to make contact with his mouth. Yoshi reached his hand out and stroked the bald head before moving to probe the round shell. One of his turtles except this turtle was no longer small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Rather, the he had grown to the size of a human infant. Yoshi’s ministrations seemed to ease the turtle as his wails softened to whimpers. Green eyelids parted to reveal blood-shot baby blue eyes. The sight broke Yoshi’s heart.

“Come, little one,” he whispered, scooping the turtle into his arms. Old paternal instincts took over as he cradled the turtle in the same manner he once had with his daughter though the turtle felt heavier than how he had remembered. “I should have protected you better. I could not even stand the excruciating pain the ooze had caused. What toll did it have on your little body?”

Soft gasps answered him. Yoshi released a heavy sigh.

“What shall we do now? Hm?”

Yawn!

“I do not blame you. It indeed has been the most exhausting night.”

The turtle snuggled into Yoshi’s warm furry chest and released another large yawn, stretching his mouth as wide as possible. A smile pulled the corners of Yoshi’s mouth but quickly faded as his heart sunk. He twitched his ears around and closed his eyes to enhance his focus. Silence. No other distressed wails. Yoshi’s heart sunk and wondered if the turtle’s luck had run out.

“Little Kame,” he whispered not wanting to disturb the now slumbering infant. “Where are your brothers?!”

A/N: Important reference that I used subtly in this chapter. In Japanese culture, the turtle is a symbol of longevity, good luck, support, and felicity. Some of these qualities came to fruition while others were in conflict with the current situation of Hamato Yoshi. Hope you enjoyed. Already got thoughts rolling for the second chapter!


	2. The Turtle's Luck

Chapter 2: The Turtle’s Luck

Thump! Thump! Thump!

His heart pounded hard in his chest and seemed audible to his ears. He willed his body not to shake lest he disturbed the now sleeping infant in his arms. Try as he might though, Yoshi could not ebb the waves of panic washing over him. If the other three turtles were also exposed to the green substance, then surely they had transformed as well. If that was indeed the case, why were they nowhere to be found? Yoshi searched every corner of the alley: behind the dumpster, under trash bags, between the crates. All the while keeping a careful ear for passers-by and ensuring the infant turtle remained calm as he lie in the homemade sling fashioned from old, discarded bedsheets. Yet in his thorough search of every niche, no turtles were to be found – large or tiny.

From around the alley’s corner, soft giggles danced through Yoshi’s ears, causing them to twitch about. A new wave of panic punched him in the gut. His now larger ears seemed to pick up on the faintest of sounds. Being unaccustomed to his new ability, Yoshi had difficulty gauging the distances between him and any approaching sounds. Therefore he could not time accurately when unwanted strangers would appear.

_Kuso!_

Yoshi crouched behind the dumpster, peering around just enough to see the alley’s entrance without leaving the safety of the shadows. He carefully shifted the child’s weight to relieve his aching back. Yoshi was certainly out of practice with the child rearing and, which was more discouraging, out of shape.

“Ooh, how about we hit that new dessert shop?” the giggling woman suggested.

“What new dessert shop?” questioned her date.

“It’s called Heavenly Delights. The food critics have been giving it really great reviews though I forgot which street it’s on. Ooh! Let me borrow your mobile so I can call my friend who recommended it. Pleeeeease!”

The man sighed and reached into his pocket for his phone. As he pulled it out, he cursed as loose change spilled out and landed on the ground. The coins rolled and disappeared into the curb. The distant sound of metal hitting pavement echoed back up to the street level.

_A storm drain!_

“Phew!” the man chuckled. “Good thing it was a few pennies and not my keys.”

The couple’s giggles and chatter faded away as they continued down the street. Yoshi sighed in relief at not only that the people moved on, but he may have finally solved the mystery of the disappearing turtles. 

_But how do I get to the storm drain unseen?_

As he sat back to ponder the situation, Yoshi spied from the corner of his eye the metal plate covering the entrance to New York City’s underworld. Like all big cities, the sewer system was nothing more than an underground labyrinth of tunnels. Every manhole cover and storm drain eventually led to the same destination; it was just a matter of finding the right tunnel. In this case it should only be a short walk.

Yoshi carefully repositioned the sling so that the turtle was secured to his back. He crept to the manhole entrance and silently pulled back the lid. Waves of noxious fumes infiltrated his nostrils, immediately churning the contents of his stomach. The smell would have been awful enough for human senses, but this was intolerable for the rat-man’s keener nasal passage. He froze, allowing himself to adjust to the fumes and then lowered his body into the hole. 

As he attempted to shimmy down the ladder, Yoshi’s bare foot slipped off the rung. His arms flexed to brace for the sudden shift in weight as his lower body slammed against the metal. As soon as he found his footing again, he forced his digits to grip tighter, which in his new form was more advantageous as his feet curled around the metal in a way human feet could not. Despite not having rained for several days, the metal ladder was surprisingly slick. Upon closer inspection, he found mildew thickly coated the rungs. Yoshi slowed his pace to avoiding losing his grip again and falling. 

Once his feet were firmly on the ground, Yoshi exhaled softly and verified that the infant was still secured safely in place. In a turn in his series of unfortunate events, Yoshi was relieved to find that contrary to his expectation the sewers were not enshrouded in perpetual darkness. In fact, a few dim lamps illuminated the tunnels though the lighting would have been better if several of the lamps had not been burnt out. Despite the inconvenience Yoshi still located the intersecting the tunnel – the tunnel that should have been located under the storm drain in question. As he approached the intersection, faint echoes vibrated off the walls – a mixture of concerned chirps and crying. Yoshi’s pace, as well as his heartbeat, accelerated to the sounds. Once he rounded the corner a sigh escaped his lips as his eyes fell upon three oversized turtles. One had all of his limbs tucked entirely into his shell. Another turtle was nuzzling his cheek against a third turtle who was stuck on his back, releasing pained cries. The second turtle finally noticed Yoshi’s arrival and peered at him with pleading blue eyes. Stepping closer, Yoshi caught a glimpse of red trails against deep green skin. His heart skipped a beat and instantly fell next to the third turtle.

The little turtle, perhaps the smallest of the four, gripped his eyes tightly shut yet tears spilled unrelenting from the corners. Inspecting the turtle, Yoshi’s fears were confirmed – the little one was indeed injured. The upper left corner of his breast plate had chipped with a sizable chunk having been dislodged. Streams of blood trickled from the gash that began under the broken shell to the infant’s shoulder. Peering up, the city lights illuminated the storm drain grate. The surrounding wall had begun to crumble through its years of neglect. Because of the progressive deterioration, a piece of a worn out metal that ended in a sharp hook hung menacingly just under the storm drain. Looking back at the turtles, Yoshi concluded that they must have fallen through the grate before the ooze initiated their transformations. Yoshi was unsure how close to the alley’s entryway he was when he dropped the turtle bowl or whether he unknowingly flung the turtles over great distance to get them where they were now. What he did know was that regardless of how they landed here, the turtles needed him now. Yoshi carefully untied the sling and lowered the sleeping the turtle to the ground, earning him whimpers of protest.

“My apologies, Little Kame, but your brother is in need of bandaging.”

He inspected the sheet for the cleanest portion available and tore off several strips. He folded one strip and pressed it against the length of the gash. The turtle hollered and squirmed under the pained pressure. Undeterred by the turtle’s fight, Yoshi used one hand to hold him down as his other began wrapping the more strips around the shoulder and across the width of the infant’s chest. As he proceeded to tie the final strip, the turtle’s fighting spirit dissipated. His wails softened to exhausted whines and his eyes parted to reveal brilliant green irises. Yoshi reached down and scooped the injured turtle into his arms. He glanced at each of the three remaining turtles. The first one he had found was once again asleep on what remained of the original bedsheet. The other blue-eyed turtle silently studied the giant rat but did not seem to hold distrust of the mutant rodent. The timid one had started poking his head of his shell but was content on keeping his distance.

Yoshi leaned his head back against the cold, slimy wall. Waves of exhaustion beckoned his eyes to close. That was until the tunnel suddenly trembled with the passing of a large truck, blaring its horn while a man screamed a string of curses. His body jolted, jerking the green-eyed turtle’s body, causing a round of angry protests to escape his lips. The timid turtle once again retreated back into his shell. The nuzzling turtle scrambled toward Yoshi for cover while the sleeping one….well…kept sleeping.

Yoshi peered down at the blue-eyed turtle now by his side and sighed. “Well what do you suppose we should do now?”

The turtle responded with a slight cocking of his head.

“We will not get much sleep staying here, but where can we go?”

_Where to go, indeed? I will not be able to transport them unseen to my apartment. Not that we would have much room to work with, but we would have access to food._

A car pulled up near the storm drain. Doors opened and a few people exited. Laughter echoed briefly through the drain before steadily fading away.

“Oh, New York City, you truly are a city that never sleeps.”

I wonder if the tunnel under the alley would offer a quieter refuge.

Yoshi contemplated the best way to relocate all four of the turtles when a nearly overlooked observation forced its way to the front of his mind. The infant turtles were not helpless immobile babies. The blue-eyed one had crawled to him. If they all were at the same developmental stage, Yoshi would have less turtles to juggle. Perhaps he could get the turtles to follow him. After all he was only relocating them a short distance. To put this idea to the test, Yoshi scooted his body down a couple of feet, careful not to aggravate the already agitated, injured turtle. The blue-eyed turtle stared in wide eyed concern at the rat’s abrupt departure. Yoshi held out his hand and signaled for the turtle to follow. The turtle momentarily hesitated, but then proceeded to crawl forward. While turtles naturally walked on four legs, Yoshi noted in amazement that this turtle’s movement was less terrapin and more human. In fact, the little turtle’s knees supported his hind legs’ weight with the lower legs and feet trailing behind while his front limbs resembled human arms.

_So you didn’t only grow in size but your overall physiology has changed._

Yoshi replayed the events of the night and realize he indeed came in physical contact with a rat. Was that briefest of touch enough to leave a genetic footprint from which his mutation resulted? If yes, perhaps the turtles had traces of human DNA between the pet shop employee and himself. That would indeed explain the turtles’ more humanoid behavior.

Yoshi snapped out of his thoughts with the sudden plopping of the turtle into his lap. Blue eyes blinked up at him as if asking “what’s next?” In response, Yoshi slipped out from under the turtle and scooted down a few feet more. The turtle cut his eyes in annoyance but complied and crawled to him. Then the turtle turned to stare at his timid brother who refused to move an inch. A rumble reverberated through the blue-eyed turtle’s throat – almost like a kitten’s purr but resembled more like how Hollywood dinosaurs sounded. The timid one finally extended all of his limbs out of the shell and took a few hesitant crawls forward. Confident the plan would work Yoshi stood and gathered up the sleeping turtle. Now juggling to heavy babies in each arm, he continued down the tunnel and turned back into the direction of the alley. The decrease in traffic was evident. No thunder-like rolling of car tires. No shaking walls. No blaring horns. No people. With an exhausted huff, Yoshi sunk down against the walls and repositioned the two turtles he held in a more relaxed position. He laid their bodies on the ground but allowed them to prop their heads on his legs. He carefully turned the injured turtle to his back as to not soil the area protecting the wound. From around the corner came the remaining two turtles. The blue-eyed one upon seeing Yoshi quickened his pace until he crashed into the rat’s abdomen. The turtle nuzzled his face into the thick fur before settling into much needed slumber. The timid one took his time. While he mustered enough courage to follow his brother, the largest of the four turtles seemed to be sizing the rat up. Something about the situation played against the turtle’s instinct and thus he proceeded with caution. Too tired to coax the turtle into reassurance, Yoshi resigned to closing his eyes and listened to the shuffling of the turtle crawling around. Then all movements ceased. Peering through one half-open eyelid, Yoshi spied the timid turtle lying across from him staring back with the most incredible reddish brown eyes unlike anything he has ever seen. The turtle yawned widely yet willed his eyes to remain open.

_The cautious one. I cannot blame you for distrusting me. I failed to protect you all, causing injury to your brother. I hope in time I can remedy the situation and earn back your trust._

With his final thoughts, a wave of exhaustion finally claimed the rat’s consciousness and pulled him into the dark recess of sleep.


	3. Guardian Angel

Chapter 3: Guardian Angel

_The man grabbed at his shirt. Yoshi spun around, cracking his elbow across the man’s face. Peering over his shoulder, he spied the second man attempting to attack from behind. Yoshi cocked his knee up and then rammed his heel into the suited man’s stomach except that the man barely flinched at the contact. Instead, he grabbed Yoshi’s leg and pulled back, nearly face-planting the skilled ninja. Never had he experienced such difficulty in fending off two attackers, especially those with no martial arts training. Yet he felt the constant drain on his stamina though the suited strangers seemed unfazed. Finally a kick managed to dislodge the mysterious canister from the man’s hand. It tumbled through the air - the green ooze glowed and shimmered even in the dark alley. Then crash! – the glass cracked like an egg, coating him in the substance - searing his flesh._

_“Aaaaaah!”_

With a sharp gasp Yoshi jolted violently from his sleep. His fur was drenched in cold sweat. His chest heaved as he fought to regain his breath. As his breathing steadied, his heart rate slowed back to its baseline levels.

_So the nightmare is truly my new reality after all._

Yoshi frowned at this realization – a frown that deepened as water drops splashed onto his head. He may have slept deeply but the slumber was far from comfortable. His back ached from sitting up all night. Yoshi rolled his neck side to side, working out the kinks caused by his head flopping to one side during the night. He attempted to stretch out his stiff legs but found they were partially pinned down. Glancing down he found two of his turtles still monopolized his body as their bed. Well the injured green-eyed turtle was only using his right leg as a pillow. He did not appear to have moved much during the night. In his current condition it was best that he kept his activity to a minimum. The blue-eyed turtle was another story. When Yoshi fell asleep the turtle had rested his head on the rat’s furry abdomen but the rest of his body was curled up on the floor. Over the course of the night, the turtle had migrated so that his body now straddled over Yoshi’s legs while his head had remained on Yoshi’s warm belly. Looking across the tunnel he found the cautious turtle curled up with his arms tucked under his head. Yoshi sighed in relief that exhaustion finally overcame that one. And the fourth turtle….was nowhere in sight!

_Kuso!_

Taking great care not to rouse them, Yoshi slowly rolled the blue-eyed turtle off and slid out from under the injured turtle. With his muscle memory kicking in, Yoshi mustered all of his stealth training to silently creep down the tunnel in search of the missing turtle.

The tunnel extended in two directions, giving him a fifty percent chance of choosing the correct direction. The chances decreased if the turtle chose to explore any of the numerous intersecting tunnels. Yoshi exhaled to calm his nerves and cleared his head. Crouching down, he surveyed the ground for clues. Finally his eyes fell upon a disturbance in the mildew that coated the floor. Yoshi followed the trail of what he assumed was a leg dragging on the ground. He soon confirmed he was on the turtle’s trail when he came upon a pale yellow puddle and then, a couple of feet beyond, a small pile of brown excrement. 

_At least he had the decency to take his business away from the others. I wonder if this qualifies as being toilet trained by turtle standards._

Yoshi proceeded to the intersecting tunnel and peered around the corner. There, staring up at the sunlit grate, sat the fourth turtle. Even in the dank sewer, the turtle looked angelic as he silently marveled at the world above even if they were brief glimpses. A smile pulled on Yoshi’s lips as he gazed at the tranquil sight. Hating to disturb the peace, Yoshi crouched down next to the turtle who then turned to meet the rat’s gaze.

“It would appear that I must be more vigilant with you turtles. You cannot leave whenever you wish. What if something had happened to you?”

The turtle gurgled a response and raised up his arms. Chuckling Yoshi obliged the request and carried the little one back to their nest only to find the other had awaken and were growing restless as a combination of whines, whimpers, and wails chorused down the halls. Yoshi rushed over and tried to soothe them. He rubbed their backs, wiped away tears, and recited calming mantras that fell deaf as each turtle competed to have his voice heard. The fourth turtle finally joined in the commotion as he choked up and let loose a stream of tears.

_If someone passes through the alley, I will not be able to keep them concealed. Priority number one – I must ensure their safety._

But could he carry them all? Handling two had proven to be taxing. And all were currently too distraught to willingly follow him.

_Bedsheets!_

He had found a few sets when he fashioned his first sling. If he could obtain a couple more, then hauling all four turtles was a real possibility. He silently prayed that stealth and speed were still on his side. Yoshi cupped the blue-eyed turtle’s face and forced the youngster’s gaze up at him.

“You must listen carefully. I need you to be strong.”

Tears continued to cascade down his cheeks as he sobbed uncontrollably. 

_I almost forgot that you all are just infants._

Yoshi sighed nervously as the cries only grew louder.

“I will return soon. And once I do, we will find a safer place. I promise.”

Yoshi swiftly scaled the ladder. Once he reached the manhole cover, he reached with one hand and tilted one side. He surveyed the alley and once he determine it was clear, he exited the hole and bee-lined for the dumpster. Even though the lid once again completely concealed the entrance, the turtles’ cries still floated to the outside world.

_Staying here will indeed be unwise_ , he confirmed. Yoshi however could not shake the need to be near this particular alley. He knew his way home from here. Even if he could no longer continue life as a human, the little apartment had supplies that he urgently needed now. _One hurdle at a time, Yoshi._

Finding his resolve, Yoshi lifted the dumpster’s lid and began scavenging. The process took him longer than expected. His vigilance – and paranoia – kept him on high alert of his surroundings and he found himself seeking refuge several times as crowds of people carried on with their daily routine. His patience and determination paid off though! Not only had he found the bedsheets but food as well. A couple of bananas – soft and browning with ripeness but not rotten. Yoshi silently thanked the spirits for his turn of luck before descending back to the underworld.

Sitting cross-legged on the damp ground, Yoshi proceeded to peel a banana. Its sweet aroma somehow penetrated through the malodorous air tickling at the turtles’ noses. Piercing cries soon softened and four pairs of teary eyes focused on the white and brown spotted fruit. The four sat hypnotized as they watched the rat pinch off a small chunk and extended his fingers toward them. All of the turtles opened their mouths like anxious chicks waiting for their mother to deposit their meal. Yoshi hesitated, unsure who should be the first recipient. In that moment, -one turtle decided to take initiative. The little angelic one lunged forward and latched his mouth around the little morsel. His brazen act earned him a round of jealous screams from his brothers. But none were more furious than the injured brother who had now balled his good hand into a tight, shaking fist. Irate screams ripped through his throat, bouncing off the sewer walls.

“Mou ii yo!” 

Yoshi’s stern tone immediately silenced all of the turtles. Caught by surprise, none of them dared to move a muscle. Yoshi sighed – a pang of guilt wormed into his heart at his loss of patience.

“We cannot allow ourselves to fall into this chaos. Screaming will draw unwanted attention. If people were to discover you, who knows what they will do. It is unsafe for us.”

The turtles stared blankly, most likely comprehending none of his words, but they were quiet. Breaking each banana in half, Yoshi rationed out the meal to each turtle. In content silence, the turtles mashed small pieces between their beak and tongue.

_No wonder they were in such discontent earlier._

The rat smiled as he watched the turtles satiate their hunger. Full stomachs should yield cooperative children. As the turtles continued to smear banana across their mouths and fingers, Yoshi immediately set to work on creating the slings. Anticipating a long trek to find a solitary sanctuary, the five of them would need to depart as soon as they were capable. If luck stayed by their side perhaps they would find shelter before nightfall.

A/N: “Mou ii yo!” means “That’s enough!”


	4. Humanity Lost

Chapter 4 – Humanity Lost

Success! Yoshi had quickly assembled the two slings that will allow one turtle to be strapped to his chest and another one on his back. This would free his arms to carry the remaining two infants. They were finally ready to go!

Yoshi glanced at the four turtles and smiled. With full bellies, the turtles were happily babbling with each other. Two of them occasionally engaged each other in little tumbling, wrestling matches. Yoshi almost felt guilty of having to break up their fun.

“Gomen nasai, Kame. It is time to leave.”

Even though he had no specific destination in mind, Yoshi knew it was best to move away from the main streets and their connecting side alleys. Such a strategy should keep them away from highly populated areas. The trick was finding such a safe haven in a city of seven million people. The other trick was not getting lost in the underground labyrinth.

Earlier while the turtles were feasting on their bananas, Yoshi had peeked at the injured one’s wound. The bleeding had stopped but had left behind a sticky, and slightly crusty, mess. The turtle had protested and squirmed when Yoshi had peeled off the cloth “gauze” – the dried blood had not wanted to relinquish its hold. The wound required cleansing but Yoshi was ill prepared for the task so he flipped the cloth over so that the clean side covered the gash. If the wound was not tended to soon, the little one risked an infection. Thus Yoshi’s game plan was first to relocate the turtles and keep them contained so he could then retrieve his first aid kit from his apartment.

Kneeling down, Yoshi proceeded to secure the “wanderer” onto his back. He then strapped the wounded turtle to his front, taking great care not to crush the injured shoulder. As he was about to hoist the remaining turtles into his arms, a sudden idea lit up his mental light bulb. He needed to leave a trail of bread crumbs back to this manhole cover. He spied the left over pieces of cloth and hastily ripped them into several thin strips. Yoshi took one strip and tied it around the ladder as a signal that this was his gateway to the above world. Once satisfied with his preparations, Yoshi lifted the remaining turtles – one in each arm – and proceeded down the tunnel.

* * *

In the dark recesses, it was impossible to gauge the passage of time. He had no watch. Without the sun, he could not estimate if it was still morning or if it had passed noon. Half an hour could have elapsed or two hours. There was no way to be sure. All Yoshi knew was that his legs were cramping, his biceps shook uncontrollably, and his back ached fiercely. Every so often he had to set the two turtles down to relieve the burden off his arms. Alternating between contracting and relaxing the muscles dulled the pain but induced a loud popping in his elbows that seemed to echo in the empty tunnels.

Adding to the growing list of woes was that the sanctuary he desperately sought after continued to elude him. As he trekked further away from the rumble of traffic, he grew optimistic of finding a quiet spot only to hit yet another intersection of densely populated activity. Sighing disappointedly, Yoshi would be forced to backtrack and retrieving his white ribbons along the way so that he could maintain an accurate trail.

After what felt like hours, Yoshi finally turned into a tunnel that was darker, due to the high number of burned out lamps, and drier. Yoshi extended a slender finger and trailed it against the wall – damp but not trickling water. In fact the floor did not contain free flowing streams or standing water. The rat could only assume this region was abandoned; he prayed this assumption held true. He continued down to the intersecting tunnel and found it descended into a darker recess. In fact, no light illuminated this tunnel. Despite the pitch black darkness, Yoshi’s keen eyes perceived every detail – the corners of wall meeting floor, the contours of uneven layering of brick, and crumbled stone littering the floor. He however could not see the end of the tunnel or whether any tunnels intersected it. He reached down into the sling to retrieve a ribbon to only find none were left.

_Kuso!_

With widened eyes, Yoshi desperately searched for extra cloth only to find the little turtle as the sling’s only occupant. While this area seemed to be quite far away from human activity, there were too many unknowns with the turtles’ ability to roam wherever they pleased. As Yoshi racked his brain for a solution, he was wrenched out of his thoughts by a sudden warm, wet sensation soaking through the sling onto his fur. The sour scent assaulted his nostrils. He glared at the turtle who squirmed in discomfort.

“Well, it would seem you boys do require diapers after all.”

As Yoshi pinched the bridge of his nose, a thought – a possible solution – crept into his mind. No, it was more like an instinct – a nagging yearning that seemed embedded in the rat DNA. Yoshi shook his head, fighting to suppress the idea. Such an act was below him! – a civilized man!

Yoshi snorted, nearly tasting the bile of his own bitterness. Finally, his face fell as defeat set in, knowing he was out of options. His ears flattened and his whiskers drooped with his dampened mood. Yoshi sauntered over to the wall. Ensuring the two turtles sitting on the floor were cleared from his path, Yoshi succumbed to his rat instincts as he marked his scent onto the wall. The putrid smell permeated the air, causing his nose to wrinkle in disgust. Even the emerald-eyed turtle scrunched up his face. After depositing what he felt was an adequate amount of urine, he gathered up the turtles and continued his exploration. He trudged for some time, stopping periodically to relieve his arms of the heavy turtles and to mark the trail.

At last, the rat and his turtles found themselves in a dead-end. The tunnel connected to a wide semi-circle room. Whatever the intentions for this corridor were Yoshi had no clue. Rubble littered the floor but he saw no outright hazards. Releasing a relieved sigh, Yoshi placed the two turtles on the ground and then proceeded to untie the slings, freeing the other two turtles. Yoshi tenderly massaged the knots out of his back. As he rolled his shoulders, the little wanderer crawled into his lap, opened his mouth wide, and began to beg “ah-ah!” Yoshi cocked a quizzical eyebrow, prompting a more insistent round of “ah-ah” along with loud mouth-smacking. Finally the turtle resorted to bopping his body matching the rhythm of his whiny grunts as his baby blue eyes grew misty.

“You are hungry,” Yoshi released a distraught sigh. “I suppose it is time for another meal.”

Yoshi’s face fell knowing that he had nothing to offer the turtles. 

“I am sorry. Once I can go back to my apartment, I will be sure to bring food.”

This of course did little to placate the little turtle who resorted to throwing himself to the ground, howling from hunger pains. Yoshi turned his gaze away, growing weary of their predicament. Out the corner of his eye, Yoshi suddenly noticed the timid turtle crouching close to the ground. The turtle’s eyes concentrated on a spot before him but slowly moved his gaze as he carefully crawled toward to the direction where his eyes were locked. In one swift motion, he smacked his hand down and popped an object into his mouth, mashing it with his powerful jaws. Then once again, the turtle locked his eyes on another object and became engrossed with it. Yoshi moved closer to investigate the scene. He sat next to the turtle and followed his gaze. If it wasn’t for his heightened sense of sight, he would not have noticed the little white maggot in the dark. The timid turtle once again plotted out his attack; he smacked his hand on top of the maggot and devoured the wiggling grub. Yoshi momentarily felt ill to his stomach until it dawned on him – the turtle was working off of his own instinct. While the pet shop worker lectured him on how to properly care for the turtles and supplied him with a starter kit, he had to admit he knew nothing about turtles. What exactly did wild turtles eat? He thought turtles were vegetarians. Perhaps they did eat meat as well. He wouldn’t know. But the turtle was content on the find. Where had the maggot come from anyway? Didn’t maggots live off of corpses?

Rummaging through the debris piles, Yoshi finally found the source – a dead rat. He couldn’t help but snort in derision at the irony of finding a dead kin covered with dozens of the fat white larvae. Gingerly pinching the tail between two fingers, Yoshi plucked the rat up and kept it at arm’s length away from him. Once near the turtles he carefully brushed off the maggots and flung the carcass as far down the tunnel as possible. Yoshi turned back around to find the turtles feasting on the juicy grubs, sending a shudder through his body. Finally he resigned to plopping down and watched as the turtles devoured every last maggot. It wasn’t long before little hands rubbed tired eyes and large yawns erupted from their mouths. He moved closer and began rubbing their backs. Heavy eyelids surrendered to the call of sleep. Some snored lightly while others opted to suck on their thumbs. Satisfied the turtles were deep in their dreamlands, Yoshi tiptoed back toward the tunnels. As he stepped out of the corridor, soft chirps fluttered into his ears. Groaning softly, Yoshi turned to find the sapphire-eyed turtle sitting up with a worried expression. The corridor was too dark to actually perceive the eye color but the observant ninja had quickly become familiar with each turtle’s physique and thus recognized the turtle by his silhouette.

“I will return,” he reassured the turtle with hushed tones. “Please go back to sleep.”

As he turned to leave, Yoshi heard the turtle scurry after him. He swiftly spun around, causing the turtle to stop in his tracks.

“Stay!” he commanded firmly.

The turtle took a hesitant crawl forward.

“Koko ni ite!”

The turtle’s flinched at the tone, but then determination took hold, forcing his limbs to move forward.

_Perhaps you do not understand my words. Perhaps you never will, but you will always understand your natural instincts._

Before the turtle could reach the exit, Yoshi aimed a stream of urine and drew a line on the stone ground. Upon reaching the boundary, the turtled crashed to a halt as if hitting an invisible force field. The turtle sniffed at the pheromone laced urine and chirped pleadingly. Yoshi pointed a finger toward the sleeping brothers. Seeming to understand the signal, the turtle returned to his litter and curled up into a ball. The rat had no idea why this act worked, but a little whisper in his mind had convinced him create the scented boundary. There was no point in rationalizing it. After all, what part of the last twenty-four hour had been rational?! Convinced that the turtles would not leave the room, Yoshi disappeared into the tunnels.

The trip back to their starting point went much quicker than the trip out. The scent trail he left was very effective though he at times had to kneel in order to detect some of the faded odor, but the scent had imprinted on the bricks nonetheless. Soon he had found the ribbons he had placed at intervals on various ladders, exposed pipes, and metal bars. Before long he was back in the alley – and luck had it that the sun was setting. Yoshi remained crouched behind the dumpster until darkness enveloped the city.

True to his ninja training, the giant rat remained concealed in the shadows as he scaled fire escapes and window sills. He jumped from rooftop to rooftop all the while remaining alert of any human traffic, which fortunately no person had any business hanging out on rooftops at night. Yet he remained vigilant, hiding behind various objects, just in case. Finally Yoshi found himself on the roof of his apartment building. He paced around to be sure he could climb down undetected before silently climbed the fire escape down to the fourth floor. Knowing that his window had broken latches, it wasn’t difficult for him to raise the panel and slip into the dark apartment. Yoshi turned to flick on the lamp but thought better of it. No need to draw nosey neighbors’ attention to a giant rat in the apartment. Instead he crept through the darkness toward the bathroom where the first aid kit was. It was then Yoshi flipped the light switch, illuminating the little room. But nothing could have prepared him for what appeared before him. In the mirror, his reflection was unrecognizable though the image was much clearer than what he had seen in the dark puddle in the alley the night before. His eyes traced over the contours of his face: the strands of brown disheveled fur, the long nose with white whiskers protruding outward, the large ears sticking up, the large front teeth extending out of his mouth. Hot tears stung his eyes as his hands balled into shaky fists. His body shook as rage consumed his entire being. There before him was a rat! – not a man! Of course he was no longer a man. A man would not scurry in the city’s shadows like a thief in the night or lurk in the sewers. A man would not resort to trash digging or maggot collecting for food. A man would not have pissed his way through tunnels just so he could sniff his way back. For crying out loud, he pissed out the boundary of his new residence!

Releasing a guttural scream, Yoshi rammed his fist through the mirror. Dozens of glassy shards rained onto the cold hard floor, reflecting the shattering pieces of his humanity.

A/N: Koko ni ite means “stay” or “stay here.” Also the number four is also considered unlucky in Japanese culture and thus why I made a point of Yoshi’s apartment being on the fourth floor. Hope you all enjoyed!


	5. Splintered

Chapter 5: Splintered

Tears pooled in a growing puddle on the hard tiles. Shards of glass along with the contents of the medicine cabinet littered the floor around him. On his knees, Yoshi sat hunched back with his arms propping the weight of his upper body – his fists nearly grinding into the floor. Why was he so shaken up by this revelation? He already knew what a monster he had become yet confirming the fact still sent shockwaves through his consciousness. Perhaps he was still in denial of the permanency of this fact.

Yoshi finally sat back, leaning against the wall. One hand reached up and gingerly wiped the tears from his face. He slowly inhaled and released shaky exhales in a feeble attempt to calm his nerves. Out of the corner of his eye, Yoshi spied the first aid kit and suddenly remembered why he was here to begin with.

_Those turtles – they too are victims of this cruel fate. They are just too innocent to perceive the curse bestowed upon them._

A curse – it that what this was? Had he been cursed? Was this the punishment for his past sins? For having engaged in a jealousy fueled rivalry with Saki? For his pride in having won over the woman of their affection? For flaunting his new family especially after the blessed birth of his daughter? For driving away a man he once called brother and reigniting the ancient blood feud between his clan and the Foot? Weren’t the deaths of his wife and child enough punishment?! Apparently God had other plans for him. But why the turtles? They were only babies. They didn’t deserve to suffer through the mutation – to forever live in exile as monsters. Little baby monsters who were now dependent on him.

Groaning from a mixture of exhaustion and frustration, Yoshi reached for the kit and checked its contents: a cloth bandage wrap, gauze, band-aids of various sizes, alcohol wipes, antibacterial ointment, and pain relievers though he was unsure if that would be safe for the turtle. Maybe the pain relievers would prove to be useful in the future – better to be prepared.

Yoshi gathered up the kit and made his way to the adjacent bedroom to retrieve a backpack. He shoved the kit to the bottom and scanned the room for other potentially useful items. A flashlight and extra batteries found their way into the bag. He then eyed the bedsheets – seemingly his primary staple these days. Bedsheets had proven to be surprisingly versatile: bed covers, slings, reusable diapers, and who knows what else. Yoshi ripped the mattress cover and top sheet and piled them onto the floor. He then proceeded to the closet and slid the door open. Rummaging through the few possessions he had left, Yoshi found a belt and determined that it could serve as a tourniquet but hoped that he would find a less medically oriented purpose for it. Eying the handing shirts, Yoshi delicately ran a hesitant finger over the fabric as if they might break under his touch. After a couple of minutes, he slowly pulled one off the hanger. He eased his right arm through the sleeve but found his thicker arm made for a tight squeeze. As he carefully pulled the shirt over his shoulder, the fabric protested to the growing pressure and split at the seam. Growling out his frustration, Yoshi ripped off the shirt and flung the shreds against the wall.

_Who were you kidding, Yoshi? What made you think you could salvage any remnants of your humanity?_

As if trying to escape a burning room, Yoshi hastily retreated to the living room and made his way to the kitchen area. He shoved all the fruits he saw along with some leafy greens, which he remembered were specifically recommended for the turtles’ diet, into his pack but knew those would last only for so long. Until he could figure out viable food sources, he would need a stock of nonperishable items. He then sifted through the cabinets and packed various dried seaweed snacks, squid chips, jerky sticks, and bottled water.

Once satisfied he had gathered as many useful supplies as possible, Yoshi headed back to the window. As he passed by an end table, he abruptly stopped as the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of two framed photos. He stared nostalgically at the only two pictures he had left, picking them up for a closer inspection. One was a photo of him and Shen taken while they were still dating. They both were university students at the time. Shen was the most beautiful and intelligent woman he had ever met. She was also the most compassionate person who happily put others before herself. A sorrowful smile graced his lips as he recalled her soft giggles and the scent of her favorite perfume. His eyes grew misty again as he then turned to the other picture – a family portrait taken soon after Miwa’s birth. She was so small that he feared handling the delicate bundle, but even then he saw a fiery spirit in the way she asserted her daily demands for food or attention. 

These two pictures were the only relics of his old life. He studied the man in the pictures but found no likeness to the rat he saw in the mirror. Furrowing his eyebrows and shaking his head, Yoshi replaced the pictures on the table. His attention then turned to the constant blinking of the number one on his answering machine. At this point he shouldn’t have cared that there was a message awaiting him but a force of habit compelled him to hit the playback button.

“Where the hell are ya, Yoshi?! I dunno how things were done in Japan but ya can’t just ditch out on work just cuz you don’t feel like comin’ in. I don’t care if yer sick – ya gotta follow protocol to claim yer sick day. So unless yer dead, ya better get yer ass to work tomorrow or ya fired!”

_Oh but Hamato Yoshi is indeed dead_ , he snorted indignantly. _He is nothing more than a ghost of the man I once was. I am now a nameless rat._

Yoshi turned to leave, but something pulled him back like an imaginary leash binding him to the apartment. Returning to the end table, he picked up the two pictures and carefully placed them in his pack, positioning them in a way to ensure they would survive transport undamaged. Hamato Yoshi the man may have been gone but his memories lived one forever engraved in his heart. Similarly, even though his wife and daughter were gone from this world, their spirits still lingered within him. Fragments of his old life but his life nonetheless. How could he abandon what was left of his family? 

It was in that moment that Yoshi realized that he was in a sense no different than a splinter. In order to make a dining table, you first must cut down a tree. Then you craft it into the size and shape you desire. While sanding it down, small pieces will splinter off – some of the unassuming strands may even lodge itself under your skin. Yet that tiny fragment is still the same wood that once belonged to the tree even though its destiny had diverged from its original path. Just like that tiny wooden fragment, the mutant rat was now a splinter of his old self. His destiny had changed, but he could not deny that he started life as Hamato Yoshi.

Surveying the apartment one last time, Splinter the Rat bid sayonara to his old life. He strapped the pack onto his back, tied the sheets over his shoulder, and slipped into the night, looking toward the dawn of his new life.

_Kishi kaisei._

A/N: Ok, short chapter, I know. Originally this was going to be a longer chapter but the splinter analogy popped into my head and felt it was an appropriate ending for the chapter. Sounds like this should be the end of this fic for it seems Hamato Yoshi has now become Splinter. Or is he? Has he fully embraced his new identity?

A/N 2: Kishi kaisei is a Japanese saying that literally mean “wake from death and return to life.”


	6. Nursing Wounds

Chapter 6: Nursing Wounds

Concealed in the shadows, Splinter placed his backpack on the cold rooftop and rested against a ventilation shaft. Giant knots had painfully infiltrated his back, neck, and shoulders. He may have increased in size but the extra mass did not equate to increased strength. Coupled with a lack of sleep and caring for four needy infants had taken its toll on Splinter’s body. 

He stared at the starless night sky; he hated that – not seeing the stars. He had always loved the numerous opportunities and pleasantries offered in the big cities. He never forgot how lost in awe he was the first time he visited downtown Tokyo: the giant skyscrapers, the numerous restaurants, the arcades and toy stores. However, the bright night lights drowned out the stars. New York City was no different.

Splinter crept over to the edge of the roof and peered down into the alley. A dirty disheveled man stood picking through the dumpster. His search yielded some cardboard for bedding, a stained, torn blanket for warmth, and old Chinese food for dinner. The man may not have been a rat, but he was still regarded as one of the city’s numerous pests. Sighing heavily, Splinter patiently waited for the man to finish his meal and fall asleep.

As the night progressed, well-lit windows darkened, yet the city seemed to be enveloped in a perpetual glow. Splinter inhaled the cool crisp air. He closed his eyes, feeling the breeze dance through his fur, penetrating through the thick layer to gently kiss his skin. Slowly he opened his eyes and gazed down. Satisfied that the man was indeed asleep, Splinter made his silent descent to the ground, utilizing various ladders, ledges, and crevices to remain hidden. Landing safely on the ground, he silently pulled back the manhole cover. As he lowered his body into the hole, a glistening caught the corner of his eye. Splinter crawled toward the dumpster and peaked under it. When his eyes spied a broken cylindrical glass tube, Splinter let out a soft gasp as he recognized the object. He retrieved the canister that once held the green ooze – the same green ooze that initiated this nightmare – that had dehumanized him. He stood and lifted the dumpster’s lid, preparing to toss the canister into the trash where it belonged but hesitated at the last minute. He eyed the forsaken object for a minute before shoving it into his pack and then climbed down into the sewers.

The return home was an easy trek. His scent was now familiar to him, forever imprinted on his memory. He really did not require his sight to find his way home. He did, however, need to refresh his marks, solidifying his territory. As he rounded the last corner and followed the hall, a little silhouette slowly came into view. Sitting frozen like a statue, the little form stared down the corridor. Approaching closer, Splinter was able to discern the shape of a tiny turtle. When he reached the entryway, Splinter saw wide anxious eyes dancing happily at the rat’s return. Splinter stopped before the turtle; their eyes locked on each other. The sapphire-eyed turtle beckoned for him to come closer by raising his little arms into the air. Splinter only stared at the silent persistent plea.

“You certainly are a stubborn one,” he whispered.

Surrendering to the battle of wills, Splinter picked the infant up. As soon as he was scooped up, the turtle pressed his head against Splinter’s shoulder and passed out from exhaustion. Splinter turned toward the three turtles huddled together - deep in their slumber. He gently placed the fourth turtle with his brothers, lit a candle, and turned his attention to the injured turtle. Carefully flipping him to his back, Splinter unraveled the bandages. He reached out to pull back the gauze but stopped. Chances were the cloth had once again dried to the wound. Splinter pulled out a water bottle and the first aid kit from his pack. He poured some water over the gauze, hoping the dampness would loosen the underlying scabs. Splinter worked his fingers under the gauze, gently cutting through the scabs with his sharp claws. The scabs proved to be the stronger opponent, however, as it refused to relinquish its firm hold. Splinter’s thumb suddenly slipped and the cloth pulled off a chunk of scab, making a soft ripping sound. Eyelids snapped open, revealing bright emerald orbs full of a mixture of surprise and hurt. Tears welled up and lips quivered. Scrunching his face, the turtle bellowed angry screams, effectively awakening his brothers – well two of the three. The small turtle thrashed about as Splinter continued to clean the gash with alcohol wipes. The turtle was deceptively strong for his petite size. Splinter was left with no choice but to cross his free arm across the turtle’s chest and pin him securely to the ground. Leaning closer, Splinter inspected the wound. Other than the fresh blood dimpling from the scab was removed, the wound appeared to be healing. No puss. No foul odors. While Splinter continued to clean, the sapphire-eyed turtle cuddled next to his distressed brother and nuzzled him cheek-to-cheek. The timid turtle too joined the group, curiously observing Splinter’s handiwork – the thorough cleansing, Splinter’s slender fingers rewrapping the bandages, all the little medical items contained in precise locations the small kit.

After securing the wraps, Splinter scooped the turtle into his arms and soothingly rocked the infant back to sleep. He replaced the turtle next to the still sleeping brother. The sapphire-eyed turtle joined them and resettled for the night. Splinter cocked a curious eyebrow when the last turtle had not returned to the “nest.” He turned around to find the once timid one exploring the contents of the backpack. The broken canister suddenly rolled out and clinked against the hard ground. Splinter’s eyes widened as the turtle mustered the courage to boldly reach for the broken glass. In a burst of speed, the rat sprinted on all fours and grabbed turtle’s arms, yanking him away from the canister. And as quickly as the turtle had found his courage it immediately dissipated as he retreated into the safety of his shell.

“Gomen,” Splinter apologized as guilt filled his heart. “I only wished to protect you from harm. Broken glass is dangerous. I did not want you to be injured like your brother.”

The explanation did little to placate the infant. Russet eyes peered through the darkness but he refused to emerge from his sanctuary. Sighing in defeat, Splinter collected his belongings and retreated to his own corner of the corridor. Holding the canister between his hands, he turned the object around, studying the details. A glass tube capped at both ends by silvery metal. A pink ring of hexagons with a seventh in the middle graced the one of the ends. No trace of the green ooze was left though he was unsure if all of it was used on him and the turtles or if someone else crossed paths with the substance. This unsuspecting canister was the only clue to whoever was responsible for his new life. Why he was so captivated with the damned tube was beyond him. He may never meet those suited men again. He may never know what the substance was, but this was his only link between the death of Hamato Yoshi and the birth of Splinter…along with the birth of the turtles. Even if he never understands why this all happened to them, he was forever bound to this new life with the turtles. Sighing, he carefully replaced the canister in his pack and hugged it close to his body – away from curious turtles – and allowed sleep to envelop him.


	7. Comforts

Chapter 7: Comforts

“Raphael! Do not pick it!”

Splinter lightly slapped the little green hand away. The little turtle, however, was a stubbornly persistent one. Every few minutes, Splinter would catch Raphael trying to rip off his bandages or snake his fingers under it to pick at the scabs. The first few attempts resulted in the successful undressing of the wound and relentless scratching to the point of bleeding. Splinter has since learned that turtles possess surprisingly sharp claws. Consequentially, the areas where the gash had cut deeper were taking much longer to heal than it should have been. However, it seemed the more vigilant Splinter was the more determined the turtle became.

Smack!

Raphael growled out his protest and menacingly stared down the rat. Eye ridges furrowed in defiant determination as he once again lifted his hand for his shoulder. Smack!

“Iie!” Splinter wagged a warning finger in Raphael’s face. “You will infect it.”

Shutting his eyes as tightly as possible, Raphael opened his mouth and unleashed the shrillest scream his little lungs could muster. Five days this war had waged. Who knew turtles could be so loud? In fact, one week ago Splinter had thought of turtles as quiet, sluggish, docile creatures that made for perfectly calm pets. One week was all it took to shatter those preconceptions. Perhaps the green ooze was the culprit but in the last week Splinter had observed the turtles possessing far more human qualities than he would have imagined. How much of it was natural turtle behavior versus genetic rewriting? - it was impossible to know. In their one week together the four turtles had displayed a wide range of emotions: joy, anger, frustration, jealousy, sadness, and fear. One week of observations exposed four unique personalities – each turtle was as much of an individual as any person. 

This made name day a bit easier. As Hamato Yoshi had done after his daughter’s birth, Splinter upheld the old Japanese tradition of waiting seven days before naming the turtles. This allowed him to acquaint himself with each turtle though he never expected to learn so much about them. At least he already had a starting point – to name them after Renaissance artists, in honor of their own rebirth.

Michelangelo was the easiest turtle to name. Not a day went by that the little turtle didn’t smile – be it joyful or sheepish. His baby blue eyes sparkled and danced about even when seemingly lost in his own world. Not that the turtle spaced out necessarily. Rather he seemed to have built a world around him in which he socialized with unseen friends. This helped to occupy his time when not playing with his brothers. Like his namesake, who was known for his eccentric personality, the turtle possessed an energetic creativity although Splinter was at a loss of what the turtle constantly babbled about.

The strong-willed Raphael was quite the opposite of the artist he was named after. While the artist did indeed battle a long illness, he had succumbed to the disease at a young age. The turtle, however, was a fighter who will recover from his wound – that is if he doesn’t infect it from constantly aggravating it. Splinter felt for the turtle though for it certainly must have itched fiercely. Still he did not want the turtle’s condition to worsen. Instinct had Splinter trying to reason with him – force of habit most likely – but none of the turtles showed understanding of human language. Body language however was well perceived. Thus he paired tones and gestures with his words in hopes to train the turtles much like one would with a dog. So far the one word they responded to was “food.” The turtles loved meal time. In fact, their growing bodies had insatiable appetites. Meals became more frequent as Splinter’s scavenging and hunting skills improved though food was scarce on some days. Note – one should scavenge enough for two days the night before garbage pick-up day. When only a few worms or maggots were on the menu, Raphael’s competitive nature surfaced. The little one was indeed the smallest of the turtles – the runt of the litter. Yet somehow his stomach was the hungriest of the bunch. It took a few meals and a whiny Michelangelo for Splinter to realize that Raphael was stealing from his brother’s share. Once Michelangelo started sitting with Splinter at mealtime, Raphael set his eyes on a new target – Leonardo.

Unlike Michelangelo, Leonardo knew how to hold his own. Leonardo’s sapphire blue eyes always held a caring kindness, but when threatened a fierce determination ignited his fighting spirit. While he normally engaged in friendly wrestling matches with the other turtles, Raphael’s instigations brought out a fire from within him. Raphael has yet to successfully steal from Leonardo. Even if Raphael did manage to lay his hand on a treat, Leonardo would tackle his brother to the ground, which was quickly followed by remorse for hitting Raphael’s wound. Yet Raphael had not learned his lesson as the boys continued their battle for dominance on a daily basis. If all species contained an alpha male, Leonardo certainly fit the profile – he was the head lion of his pride.

Lastly, there was Donatello – the quiet, reserved one – named purely on the fact the artist was part of Splinter’s top four favorites. The little turtle was a bit of a mystery - an unmolded piece of clay – who kept to himself. Donatello avoided the high energy brawls his brothers thrived under. As his trust in his new guardian grew, Donatello had taken a keen interest in observing Splinter’s handiwork be it changing diapers, tending to scrapes and cuts, or designing traps for their next meal. In addition to an insatiable appetite, the little one’s brain seemed to thirst for knowledge, or so Splinter assumed. How his brain processed all of that information was lost on the rat for the turtle did little else but watched the world around him. At the moment, Donatello was watching the showdown between Splinter and Raphael, absorbing each reprimand and tantrum. It was a battle Raphael was starting to lose. Every time the tiny tot expanded energy he was one step closer to surrendering to exhaustion. Eyelids struggled to stay open. Raphael’s hand half-heartedly reached for the bandages before giving up and flopping into his lap. A defeated sigh grew into a large yawn at which Splinter smiled warmly.

“Looks like it is naptime.”

Much like human infants, the turtles also required frequent rest, and now that they had settled into a permanent home the ability to schedule a routine, naps were now commonplace. This allowed Splinter to carry out his chores without fear of the turtles scrambling away during his absence.

Splinter gathered Raphael up and set him on one of the several large pillows that Splinter had mostly rescued from the dumpster with two being what he brought from his own apartment. The rat had counted his blessings that as he thought of new necessities, he was able to retrieve them from his old home. Apparently, Hamato Yoshi’s quiet solitary life has made his disappearance gone unnoticed by his neighbors. This allowed him free passage to come and go as he pleased.

After settling all four turtles down, Splinter prepared his pack and a few Tupperware containers. He switched on a flashlight, which briefly illuminated the room before flickering and dying out. He smacked the device against his palm, hoping to reestablish the internal connections, but the effort proved futile. While Splinter’s eyes saw quite well in the dark, there were benefits that only light could offer. He would not have dreamed of treating Raphael’s wounds in pitch black darkness. Also, the shadows that light cast alerted him to intruders – mostly other rats – or potential prey as various beetles scurried for cover when the light found them.

_I wonder if I have batteries at the apartment. I should have time to swing by before the turtles awaken._

He threaded his arms through the pack’s straps and tiptoed toward the “doorway.” He had only taken a few steps when a sudden round of chirps, however, halted him dead in his tracks. A groan reverberated through his throat as he turned to face the source.

“Keeping watch again, Leonardo?”

Leonardo offered no response. With a straight back, Leonardo sat silently at attention.

“I’ll be back soon. Watch over your brothers, okay?”

Still as a statue he sat. This was now Leonardo’s habit. No matter how quietly Splinter moved, Leonardo seemed to possess a sixth sense for detecting Splinter’s departure – never sleeping until he returned. Perhaps Splinter was still growing accustomed to his larger, clumsier body. Some days were easier than others, but he definitely felt far removed from his ninja training. His skills in stealth was definitely not what it used to be. At least Leonardo could be trusted not to stray from home.

Splinter reassured Leonardo a final time that he would not be long and began his journey to the surface. After one week of traveling the same route, the path was now fully imprinted on his memory. No longer was it necessary to leave a scent trail to find his way through these familiar tunnels. While he called these corridors his home, the term lacked the comforts he once enjoyed: coming home to a loving family, warm home cooked meals, and joyous laughter. Everything about his new life was about concealing himself and the turtles from the outside world and surviving.

Once reaching the surface, Splinter kept to the abandoned buildings and less traveled alleys. He had only traversed during the daylight hours once but quickly learned a route that allowed movement without detection. His ninja upbringing did not fail him that day. While he preferred the darkness of night Splinter made sure he was prepared for daytime emergency runs. Best to be prepared.

Reaching the last rooftop, Splinter smirked with pride that he may have ran a personal best on this journey. Leaning over the edge, he surveyed the surrounding before preparing to scale down the building. As he sat and swung his legs over the edge, his eyes suddenly caught a shadow pass by his apartment’s window. He froze! His heart pounded hard against his chest! Quickly he planted his feet back on the rooftop and crouched down, only allowing his eyes to peer over. He watched and waited. There was the shadow again – no, shadows! A figure pulled the curtains wide open. Splinter’s eyes grew wide as saucers, and he cursed under his breath.

“Kuso!”


	8. Time and Patience

Chapter 8: Time and Patience

_How much time could they possibly need?! The apartment has only two rooms!_

Patience was a virtue Splinter normally upheld without waver, but tonight he was fresh out of it! After his legs began cramping, Splinter resigned to sitting on the on the roof, waiting for the apartment to be vacated. He was unsure how much time had elapsed but knew that he had been gone way too long, leaving four baby turtles to their own volition. The sun had begun its descent, staining the sky in pink and purple hues. Surely the turtles had awaken from their nap by now. Splinter deliberated long and hard about returning home, however, this may be his last chance to salvage anything from the apartment. Though leaving the baby turtles unattended may prove to be problematic.

_Curse this detective’s thoroughness!_

Never had he imagined that he would utter such words about the police. After all she was only doing her job. Yet the process was taking forever – interviewing the landlord, searching for clues or signs of foul play. Just leave already! He groaned as he felt utterly powerless – resigned to this painful waiting game.

By the time the apartment finally cleared out, the stars had begun their dance in the night sky. No use complaining any longer. He needed to be swift and efficient – in and out. Splinter slipped through the window and began foraging. He yanked open drawers and cabinets. He searched under furniture. Passing by the door, he spotted the notice for not having paid rent. The break in routine certainly had not gone unnoticed. It just never occurred to him that it would happen so soon. Splinter shook his head to clear his thoughts. 

_Come on! You have survived worse situations. Focus!_

After filling his pack with dried foods and water bottles, he grabbed some spare plastic bags and searched for other useful items. Sponges, soap, the elusive batteries…there they are! He stashed the prized possessions. But then a sudden sound caused him to spin around, his elbow knocking over the contents on his dresser to the floor. He surveyed the surroundings, listening for an intruder, but ultimately dismissed his paranoia as nothing more than his neighbors moving about. He scanned through the pile of papers littering the floor: the lease agreement, pay stubs, bills…what’s this? Agreement for a storage unit? Oh, of course! It certainly had been a chaotic week if he had forgotten about this. While Yoshi had lost much in the fire, he had managed to recover some possessions and brought them to New York. Unfolding the paper from the envelope a little detail caught his attention – “recurring payment”…from his checking account. Well, that won’t last much longer either. Just as well – Splinter had already severed all other ties to his past life. Or did he? He did save some sentimental tokens, but was there really anything left worth salvaging from storage? He couldn’t be sure but decided to put the issue in the back of his mind until he could spare the time to visit it. Though at this rate his time left was severely numbered.

Having filled the bags to carrying capacity, Splinter hauled the load back home. The journey seemed oddly longer than normal. The tunnels felt never ending. The further he walked the more exhaustion quickly took over. Thus it was not surprise when relieved sighs escaped his throat as he entered the final set of tunnels only to have his breath catch suddenly in his throat.

“Raphael…why are you here?”

The little turtle stared at Splinter while itching at the scab on his shoulder. Pale green, rugged skin as now exposed. Small amounts of blood smeared around newly broken skin. Snaking around the tot’s legs were the dirty bandages. Splinter stopped just before Raphael and kneeled down.

“How is it that you’re here? Why did you leave home?”

Splinter was really talking more to himself than the turtle. He stroked his chin in contemplation. It did not make sense. Creating a scent boundary worked for the others. Was Raphael so defiant that he could ignore basic innate instincts?

“Go home,” Splinter encouraged. He stood up and gently nudged Raphael with his foot.

Blink, blink.

“Raphael, move.”

Blink.

What little patience Splinter had left was now stretched dangerously thin.

“I cannot carry you, Raphael. Go…now!”

Blink.

“Raphael!” Splinter growled. Wide-eyed Raphael nearly jumped out of his shell! The snarl sounded so animalistic that it even startled Splinter, but at least he had the turtle’s attention now.

“Move it!”

Finally Raphael complied and crawled alongside Splinter back home. As they entered through the threshold, Splinter fell to his knees and released his burden with pained grunts. His arms burned from the excessive pull of the bags’ weight. As he looked up, Splinter’s eyes made contact with a pair of blue, blood shot eyes. The owner sat with slumped shoulders, lips pressed thin, and cheeks puffed – his irritation on full display. Normally Leonardo would have tackled Splinter by now after returning home, but exhaustion had an iron grip on him. Next to Leonardo, Michelangelo had managed to flip onto his back and was spinning dizzyingly on his shell. Donatello had found a quiet corner and was content with sketching the ground with a small rock. Leonardo’s eyes turned to Raphael and gave his brother a weak scowl, cutting his eyes thin at him.

_Hm. I wonder if this is related to Raphael being in the tunnels._

Leonardo’s eyes returned to meet Splinter’s once again and released a pouty sigh.

“My apologies. I got held up and couldn’t return sooner.”

Splinter fished through his pack and pulled out a box of Pocky – a chocolate covered biscuit treat – and offered it in conjunction to the apology. Eyes sparked with curiosity. A new treat! With a small boost of energy, Leonardo dragged his body forward and pulled out a think stick from the pack. He sucked on it, allowing the chocolate to melt on his tongue. As the biscuit moistened, he began mashing it between his beak. The strong jaws definitely served the toothless turtles well. Out of the corner of his eye, Splinter spied a creeping turtle inching closer to a highly distracted Leonardo. In the blink of an eye, Splinter whipped his arm out, instantly stopping the turtle in his tracks.

“Iie! The Pocky is for Leonardo…not for you.”

Raphael’s eyes widened, appalled by the news. He glanced at the sweet and crunchy treat then snapped his eyes back to Splinter. Before Splinter knew it, a barrage of babbling protests rolled off Raphael’s tongue and ended with a deep guttural growl. Splinter silently studied the strong willed turtle. His words apparently had rubbed Raphael the wrong way. Raphael confirmed the suspicion as he unleashed another round of protests – louder this time – while balling his fists tightly.

_He is definitely attempting communication. But is he understanding my words or just my gestures?_

Never had he considered that it would be possible to fully communicate with any of the turtles. That was why he had worked so hard to train them with simple commands. Then again this was the first time one had attempted to convey their thoughts to him. Perhaps they held the same reservations as he did. Inhaling deeply, Splinter ventured into a little experiment – one that would only utilize words, no body language. He eye Raphael wearily. Raphael’s eyes locked his sights once again on Leonardo. He crept ever so quietly like a lion stalking his prey.

“Tomare!”

Raphael paused and stared Splinter down in a silent challenge.

“No Pocky for Raphael!”

In that moment, the whole world came crashing down! Raphael’s eyes widened. His chin quivered. Then he suddenly threw himself onto the ground and began kicking and screaming up a storm. Leonardo turned and stared at the commotion but was too busy enjoying his snack to really care much for the scene. Donatello covered his ears (honestly, Splinter didn’t know what else to call the cochlear canals) in annoyance. Michelangelo must have had a built-in tuning out system as he did not acknowledge the wild tantrum at all. Splinter crossed his arms and, with a feigned patience, silently waited for the turtle to wear himself out. That battle lasted far longer than he cared for but alas Raphael finally wore himself out, looking like a rag doll as he lay on the ground. Over the course of the meltdown, Splinter had to walk away just to feed dinner to the other three. Afterwards, Splinter tucked the boys in for the night all the while ignoring Raphael’s demands for attention. Finally he knelt down in front of the little turtle. Emerald orbs stared back still holding intense determination but lacking the energy to act on it.

“You, Little One, have a strong will. In some cases that will serve you well, but as with all double-edged swords, it can also lead to great harm.”

Raphael huffed softly as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Knowing the turtle had no fight left, he picked Raphael up and gently laid him with his brothers. Feeling Raphael’s presence, Michelangelo rolled over, wrapping an arm and leg tightly around the highly exasperated turtle. Splinter smiled while suppressing his chuckles at Raphael’s expression.

“Sleep well, Raphael. Be nice tomorrow and you too can have Pocky.”

Raphael glared suspiciously at the large rat but finally resigned to the beaconing of the Sandman. Splinter waited until all the turtles were deep in slumber. As he waited, he busied himself with pushing large stone blocks that had been left in the corridor. Splinter carefully aligned and stacked the stones, creating a physical barrier – one which no turtle would be able to climb. By the time he finished, Splinter’s fur was caked in a layer of a sweaty, dusty mess – just another layer on top of preexisting grime and filth – but devising a bathing ritual will have to wait for another day. Splinter hopped over the wall and made his return to the surface world. However, he now had a new destination. The trek was further than the route to the apartment, but he eventually found his way to the grounds of the storage facility. 

He jumped from row to row of long series of cubed units, carefully noting the locations of the security cameras. Once he located the number that belonged to him, Splinter quickly worked on disabling all nearby cameras and climbed down to the ground. Using the access code he memorized from the rental agreement, he punched a series of numbers into the keypad, rewarding him with the click of the unit unlocking. He pushed the door up like one would open a garage door and flipped the light switch. He peered into the unit. His held his breath trying to hold back the chokes of sobs threatening to break through. His heart thumped hard against his chest. As he stared at the treasure trove before him, tears trailed down his cheek, washing away the chalky white dust off his fur.

A/N: Yeah, that’s where we are going to stop. I’ll try to not take a month to add the next chapter. Thank you all for your patience.

A/N #2: Tomare means stop as in stopping in your movement. Gotta love a language that has multiple words for different situations in which English just has one word – “stop!”


	9. Worth Saving

Chapter 9: Worth Saving

Tears stung his eyes, blurring his vision, but nothing hurt more than his heart breaking into two. To most people, the storage unit contained several unassuming boxes and crates. The only unique aspect was the simple painting of a five petal flower on one hand crafted chest. To Splinter, the boxes contained all that was left of the Hamato clan – the last ninja clan. These were the relics of a dying art, a fading lifestyle. Very few still actually understood the ways of the shinobi no mono.

Splinter cautiously stepped forward and lightly glided his finger along the boxes. He knelt down in front of the chest, but hesitated, almost afraid to find a horrid discovery if he opened it. His breath was just as shaky as his fingers. Eventually his hands found their way to the latch. His thumb fiddled with the combination until the numbers aligned and the lock clicked open. Pushing the lid back, he peered in and instantly broke into wild sobs. Tears fell off his cheek and splashed onto his father’s yukata. The burgundy garment was to be passed down to Yoshi when he officially took over the clan from his father…but that day is never to come now. Splinter folded the yukata to the side, revealing the hilt of two katana. He reached down and traced the patterns the wraps made. Niten ryu had been passed down for generations. The only reason it survived the fire was because it was not kept in the dojo since it had been relegated to ceremonial purposes only. In fact, that was how his only sole possessions survived. It was not much but he had hoped that when he got back on his feet and had adequate financing that he would open a small dojo.

_Imagine that. A rat sensei teaching martial arts._

He released a crude snort in between the sobs and sniffles. With the back of his hand, he furiously wiped the tears out of his eyes. In a fit of anger, he slammed the chest shut and stormed out of the unit. He banged against the wall and slumped onto the cold asphalt. He stared into the night sky as if waiting for some divine revelation to guide him. Where was he supposed to go from here? He had cut his ties and disassociated himself from Hamato Yoshi yet it pained him to even consider throwing away these priceless possessions. Irreplaceable. If lost, then the clan was lost as well.

_But I am the clan. It ends with me regardless._

Splinter stood up, stepped back into the storage facility, and opened another box. The contents of this box caught his attention: tanto, shuriken, and a bow with a quiver of arrows. This brought a slight smile to his face.

_These can be useful…._

He easily fastened the quiver of arrows across his body and slung the bow over his shoulder. He searched further for anything to carry the smaller items. Then the mental light bulb lit up and Splinter returned to the first box – the one with the yukata- and pulled out the obi. After tying the cloth around his torso, Splinter was able to store a couple of tanto and several shuriken into the belt.

_Perhaps I will return and determine what else is worth saving._

Figuring that he had at least one or two months left on the rental, Splinter felt his possessions were safe enough for now. The night was growing late; it was time to return home. Splinter retraced his steps back to his manhole cover while carefully noting the path. The next time he returned to retrieve more items, Splinter wanted to keep his journey to the sewers. As he entered the now familiar tunnels that led home, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. Progressing deeper into the sewers, the rumblings from the cars faded away but gave rise to a new sound. A sound that seemed oddly out of place. A faint sound that was barely audible. Splinter’s large ears pricked up and flicked around as he held his breath and listened more intently. His eyes widened in horror when he finally registered what he was hearing.

_Humans!_

Sprinting faster than he knew possible, he raced toward the sound…no, sounds. There were definitely two of them!

_Why are there people here?! Why now?! Did they find the turtles?! Kuso!_

Flash! Splinter nearly fell on his bottom from stopping so abruptly but he needed to stay clear of the flashlights’ beams as they swept around the tunnels. The men were approaching the last turn. Then they would be heading straight for the turtles! Splinter struggled to calm his breath, which was coming out as ragged huffs.

_Calm your nerves! You are ninja!_

“It’s a good thing the city figured out the budget issue. The additional tunnel will help with the flooding issues we’ve been experiencing with the storms. Originally they were gonna make it another subway rail extension with a new station.”

“How long has it been since the work down here got sidelined?”

“Six months. Surprised those hobos haven’t started making camp in this area. Abandoned tunnels usually become little communities for the homeless scum.”

_So they do not know anyone is living in these parts yet._

Splinter pulled out a tanto and angled the blade to view around the corner. He located the men though the light obscured the view, making them appear more like a shadowed silhouettes. Fortunately their backs faced him. Though if he didn’t act fast, the turtles would surely be discovered. The tunnel had the disadvantage of being tight and the bright lights illuminated the area well. Splinter needed the cover of darkness. Still grasping the little dagger tightly and relying on his stealth training, Splinter silently crept up from behind. Faster than either of the men could react, Splinter shoved one man to the ground, knocking his helmet off. Splinter immediately turned to the other man, grabbed him by the back of his head, and rammed his face against the wall, effectively breaking the headlight (and possibly his nose) and rendering the man unconscious. Before the first man could see him, Splinter threw the tanto at the remaining headlight, thrusting them into the darkness. Splinter watched as the frightened man scrambled to his feet only to trip over himself and fall hard on his chest. 

“Who’s there?!”

The rat held his tongue.

“P-please. I’ll give you anything…anything. J-just d-don’t kill me!”

Splinter continued to watch as the man fumbled with something in his pocket. Assuming he was retrieving some form of defensive tool – most likely mace – Splinter swiftly grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it around, forcing the man’s body to contort into an odd painful angle. Using his knee to guide the movement, Splinter firmly pinned the man to the ground while locking his arm securely in place.

“Oh God!” The man cried out in pain.

“Be silent!” Splinter commanded. He then lowered his voice into a deadly hushed tone. “Leave now and your life will be spared. Take your friend with you and do not return.”

Splinter then released the man and faded deep into the darkness. He watched quietly as the man desperately dragged his friend all the while praying to God for protection. Once satisfied that the men were long gone, Splinter raced back to the dead end and shouted out to the turtles.

“Leonardo! Raphael!” He cried frantically.

No response. Just an unnatural silence. His heart beat hard and fast against his chest

“Michelangelo! Donatello!”

A soft chirp replied.

“Michelangelo?”

While they lacked the ability to communicate, Splinter had begun to distinguish between the four turtles’ voice, much like one could distinguish cats by how they meowed. However, Splinter still could not locate the turtle! How can they be hiding in this small nearly empty corridor?!

“Michelangelo, where are you?!”

From one corner of the room, the pile of sheets rustled and then suddenly, Michelangelo’s head poked out from underneath. The tiny turtle released a joyful chirp, resulting in three additional heads popping out. Splinter’s racing heart began to slow down as he sighed in relief. He dropped to his knees and extended his arms out.

“Come here, my boys.”

The four turtles raced, rather competitively, into Splinter’s outstretched arms. They hugged him as tightly as possible as if he would suddenly disappear. Splinters returned the embrace and gently kissed the tops of their heads.

“You need not to fear anymore,” he whispered soothingly. “I will not let any harm come to you. I swear to always protect you all. However, those men, or others, they will be back. We can no longer stay here. But it is all right. We will find a better home – a safer home – far from the humans. And our family will never need to live in fear again. I promise.”


	10. Pandora's Box

Chapter 10: Pandora’s Box

_Steady…_

The shadowy figure scurried in and out of the holes in the rubble.

_…aim…_

The little pest was fast, but he was also so plump and bigger than most he saw. In and out of the shadows he weaved. He could almost be a ninja if he did not squeak so loudly.

_...fire!_

Splinter released the arrow and watch as it found its target, impaling through the rat’s neck.

_Yatta!_

He smirked at his accomplishment. In the beginning, his efforts were clumsy. His long claws always got in the way, making it difficult to grasp the wire properly. Sometimes the string would slip out of his fingers prematurely, dropping the arrow to the ground. The process surely tested his patience but he was determined not to give up. His boys counted on him. They needed the meat. Like any growing child, they required the protein to keep up with their growth and development. The motivation was what he needed to keep his sanity as he pushed through the physical obstacles of adjusting to his new form and incorporate his ninja training. The end result felt awkward; however, time and practice have proven useful in the transitional phase. Splinter finally found himself ghosting silently down the corridors, his katas became purposeful, and weapons could be handled properly. The accomplishment gave him a boyish excitement of finally mastering advanced techniques. He was beyond elated!

Splinter jumped down from the overhanging pipe, landing gracefully with a slight bend in his knees. He walked over to the dead rat and knelt down next to the corpse. He pressed his palms together and silently thanked God for the precious gift. Then he plucked the arrow out and wiped the blood off before replacing it in the quiver. Gripping the rat in one hand, Splinter headed down the tunnel that led back home – at least what he considered home for the meantime.

It was not much but at least he and his turtles were able to sleep in peace without worrying about any humans intruding on their space. In fact, it was possible no human even knew it existed anymore. Even Splinter had found the area completely by accident. Though weren’t many great discoveries found by pure serendipitous chance? 

After that fateful night with the city workers, the mutant family had kept to a nomadic lifestyle, sleeping wherever convenient for the night. Once awake, they spent the day moving on, eating as necessary, then moving again until slumber beckoned them for the night. It was not a stable life, but it was a safe life. Though the journeys were often slow. The turtles couldn’t help it. They tired easily. Donatello usually trailed the furthest behind – at times he lagged at such a great distance that Splinter had to resort to carrying him. Raphael still crawled but maintained a strong will to hold onto his independence and insisted on crawling with his other brothers despite their newly developed skill in walking. Splinter had not witnessed the first steps of Leonardo but noticed Raphael shortly after trying to mimic the action but lacked mastering balance. Michelangelo shortly followed in Leonardo’s footsteps, which seemed highly motivated to keep distance between him and Raphael. Donatello on the other hand seemed devoid of all interest in learning the skill instead often preoccupying himself with the various subterranean lifeforms he came across. Either way, Splinter carried far lighter loads than their first day together.

On one such migration, the turtles had required rest and as such used the moment to eat before venturing on. While remaining within eye-shot of the turtles Splinter progressed forward to peer down the intersecting tunnels to gauge their potential next route. The tunnels were poorly lit due to extreme neglect. The crumbling walls were enough of an indication of this sections decrepit state. Yet Splinter cautiously stepped foot into one corridor to determine its viability. He propped his hand against the wall as he proceeded. He only made it a few steps before his hand slipped through a flimsy cloth covering. Losing his balance, Splinter went tumbling down a series of wooden scaffolds. Some boards he bounced over while others caved under his weight. All the while he tucked his body to protect Donatello until he finally landed hard on the stone ground, knocking the wind out of him. Gasping deeply, pain emanated through his lungs. Dust coated him and Donatello earning them a series of high pitched sneezes from the turtle. Splinter wiggled his fingers and toes, assessing the potential of broken bones. Initial prognoses suggested he will suffer only deep bruising, but nothing broken.

Releasing a loud groan, Splinter gingerly sat up and inspected the dust covered Donatello. His deep olive color paled under the grey grime. Other than fighting coughing fits and sneezes, the little one seemed physically fine. The echoes of panicked chirps roused Splinter’s attention back up the rickety structure. Three anxious heads peered down at their trapped guardian and brother.

“Tomare!”

All three turtles stopped in their tracks, but their pleas were incessant. Fearful cries continued to bounce off the cavern walls. From his makeshift satchel, Splinter drew out his flashlight. The cavern was especially dark – no light source except for the dim illumination from the original tunnel. Had he knew of this potential danger he would have had the flashlight in hand sooner. But he only had a few batteries left and thus used the precious resource sparingly. He flicked the flashlight on and scanned the area. Based on the crumbling walls and the few wiring in place, Splinter suspected the area was a renovation project that was now abandoned. A nearby metal bench had an elegant antique feel but the few fixtures connected to the wires were newer, yet still old by current standards. Perhaps an attempt to revitalize the area for public use again but proved to not be feasible. The thick coating of dust confirmed there was no danger of new visitors anytime soon. Splinter walked forward still scanning the area. At one end, an archway dead ended into another room. The room was small and monopolized by large kegs. Perhaps this was one of those underground alcohol black market centers from the prohibition era. Splinter then turned perpendicularly to another opening. He investigated and found another tunnel – the never ending labyrinth. This entry point would need to be blocked in order to contain the ever wandering youngsters.

The area proved to be an ideal location to set up long term residency. The barrels were tall and heavy, providing an adequate barrier for the turtles. Yet the barrels did not completely block the entry, allowing Splinter easy access to the tunnels. The small room was converted into a bedroom. Over time, Splinter repaired the scaffold with any wood and nails he had scavenged over time. Having found old oil lamps, Splinter was able to illuminate their dwelling off of the fat from corpses that he occasionally came across or were left over from his hunts. On one of his runs through the lower tunnels, Splinter even found an old supply room from which he rescued usable tools and threw out the rest. Now the room housed the weapons he recovered from his storage unit. It was a long process but he managed to save the most priceless of possessions. And now that he has come face to face with danger, he became convinced that self-defense measures were indeed necessary. 

Fortunately, a couple of months have passed since establishing their new settlement and the need for protection had yet to arise. Still Splinter sought solitary, spacious areas to train - to acclimate his new body to yield weapons with powerful grace. He refused to allow himself to be caught unawares, in a state of weakness. It amazed him how several anatomical adjustments made every weapon feel awkward in his grasp. How spatial awareness had to be compensated so he did not whack his leg with a bo, or hit his head with nunchaku. Everything had changed, but he was determined to master his old skills. Time and patience would be on his side.

Smiling with pride, Splinter still relished in his giddiness of successfully capturing his prey. His patience and strong will paid off. It felt like a huge leap forward. Now if he could just master exerting patience with the boisterous toddlers. Feeding time would be a hassle as Splinter would need to shred the meat into more manageable pieces. Tearing into a rat meat was far more challenging than crushing bite-sized insects. The turtles were not the most patient children either. Soon Splinter became lost in thought as he devised a plan to prepare the meal without having tiny hands attempting to grab their share while roasting the rat over an open fire. 

His attention quickly snapped back to reality as his ears pricked up to a faint sound. Splinter halted as he took in the soft echoes. Whimpers. Splinter’s heart instantly dropped to the pit of his stomach. It definitely was one of his turtles! Splinter nearly dropped their dinner as he raced back home. He hastily climbed over the barrels and landed on the floor. Not far from him, Michelangelo stared with tear stained cheeks as he sniffled. Leonardo nuzzled his smaller brother seeming to be shielding him. Splinter glanced around and found Raphael in a far corner glaring at the pair.

_Great…_

Lately, Raphael’s temper had been escalating, regularly challenging his brothers. Sometimes he was competing for food, other times for small trinkets – “toys.” If one brother found a stick to draw in the dust, Raphael wanted it. Splinter even had the luck of finding an old rag doll; Raphael monopolized it the moment the doll came home. Now that Leonardo and Michelangelo were walking, Splinter experimented with the concept of potty training the boys, using a pot he found. Surprisingly Splinter was finding success in instilling the concept. The two boys made good attempts. Sometimes successful, other times completely missed the mark, resulting in foul smelling puddles. But the attempts confirmed that the process was worth practicing. Raphael, however, made it a point to push his brothers off the pot so he could sit on it…with his diaper still on. For Raphael, it was not about earning independence from the diaper. No, this was about dominance. So the fact that the air was thick with suspicious intensity immediately alerted Splinter to a recent tussle.

Kneeling in front of Michelangelo, he surveyed the boy for the source worthy of the tears and whines. As he scanned the light green body, his eyes fell on a deep purple spot. After closer inspection, he actually noticed one deep purple and a light purple mark. Small and a bit circular – like he was pricked with a sharp point. Splinter looked closer – no tears and there was nothing nearby that appeared to be used as a sharp weapon. So, what caused the bruising?

Splinter glanced around the room again and caught sight of Donatello. Like always, Donatello laid on the outskirts of any and all activity. He was especially cautious when Raphael was up to trouble. At the moment, Donatello was engaged in a new habit that had developed in the last couple of days. Until then Splinter had dismissed it as unimportant. But now it warranted further investigation. Donatello sat with his index finger (or would it be his middle finger) in his mouth. His jaw clenched hard on the appendage. The finger was always pressed in the same area but the pressure did not seem to bother him. Instead, the turtle was content on chewing his finger. Eyes narrowed as he considered the implication. It was farfetched, but what if….?

Splinter slowly walked over to Donatello as to not cause the youngster alarm. Donatello had come a long ways in trusting Splinter, yet was still quite the anxious type and easily startled. Splinter knelt down and gently coaxed Donatello’s mouth open and removed the thick finger. He then grazed his thin finger along the gum until he found what he suspected. A bulge. The moment he hit it, Donatello clamped down. Pain radiated through Splinter’s nerves. He used his free hand to cup Donatello’s jaw and pressed at the joints forcing the mouth to open again, releasing the imprisoned appendage. With the mouth open, Splinter peered in. He never had the opportunity to experience this moment with Miwa but from the books Shen had read, Splinter was convinced he was looking at the beginning of the teething process. Splinter had never seen a turtle with teeth but perhaps these turtles had more human genes than he initially thought.

With narrowed eyes, Splinter stared hard at Raphael, who sat glaring back at Splinter. His lower jaw gently ground against the upper jaw as if intentionally applying pressure on a particular spot. Seemingly in a similar location to Donatello’s bulge.

“Raphael, koko ni kite,” Splinter commanded firmly, pointing to a spot directly in front of him.

The response was so quiet, Splinter was not sure if he actually heard it at first.

“Raphael,” Splinter repeated, louder and sterner.

“Iie!”

Deep brown eyes shot open wide. Splinter definitely heard it that time. In his moment of faltering conviction, Raphael turned his back toward Splinter as if announcing his victory in this battle. Splinter balled his fist as he recovered from the shock. Marching over to the defiant turtle, he whirled the child around and pried the little mouth open. Splinter growled his frustration as his suspicions were confirmed. In addition to the bulging gum on one side, the adjacent occupant was a little pearly white, sharp tooth. Raphael had indeed bit Michelangelo’s arm. Without hesitation, he swooped Raphael off the ground, earning him a cry of alarmed surprise. Splinter then sat in front of Michelangelo. With a terrified yelp, the Michelangelo tried to flee but Splinter caught him by the wrist and instructed him to sit down. The turtle reluctantly complied, putting all his trust in the rat. Splinter displayed the bruised arm for Raphael to see.

“You cannot bite your brother!” Splinter lectured the turtle. He grabbed Raphael’s hand and forced him to lightly stroke Michelangelo’s injury. “We use gentle hands with our family. No biting, no hitting! Hug Michelangelo and apologize.”

Much to Splinter’s amazement, Raphael complied without protest. He reached out and stiffly embraced the injured brother, who looked as if he was shaking in Raphael’s arms. However, the apology was absent. While Splinter had begun conversing with the turtles more often, he had not put much effort in actually teaching essential phrases. But who knew they would actually start talking?

“Go-men na-sai,” Splinter annunciated clearly.

“Go-me mamai,” Raphael slurred. 

It was a start. It was enough to confirm that the turtles were capable of speech. The little mutant turtles had no idea yet, but this newfound ability was a powerful connection to humanity. While a blessing for Splinter to be able to connect to his turtles on a brand new level, the underlying curse was undeniable. The ability to converse and comprehend was the key to opening a Pandora’s Box of understanding a world that the turtles would never be able to fit in.


	11. Needs and Wants

Chapter 11: Needs and Wants

“Ichi…ni…” 

Splinter slowly annunciated while walking his thin fingers slowly up the plastron. 

“…san...shi…” 

Crystal blue eyes widened in giddy anticipation. 

“…go...roku…” 

Just as he thought Splinter would strike, the long furry fingers retreated to a less threatening zone. The turtle relaxed his muscles but his eyes never left the rat’s face as he attempted to read his mind. 

“...nana...hachi…kyu…” Splinter’s voice was calm and collected as he counted. Then, a slight gleam mischief shone in the corner of his eye. 

“…ju!” Splinter exclaimed as his fingers dove into the tender green armpits. Hysterical laughter bounced off the stony walls, ringing throughout the corridor.

“Mo’!” came the excited demand. The little turtle raised his arms up as if trying to provide easier access to the most ticklish areas. Splinter could only chuckle at the enthusiasm as he scooped the turtle into his arms.

“Bathe first and then we will play, Michelangelo.”

Another round of giggles screeched out as Splinter wiped the wet cloth under Michelangelo’s arms. The joy that permeated the air brought a smile to his face though his eyes softened with sorrow as he remembered Miwa’s first giggles. The sound was so happy. He could understand how the mythology of fairies being born of the baby’s laughter came to be. A sad smile spread across his face as he pictured how Miwa reacted this his many silly faces.

“Mo’!”

Michelangelo’s demand roused him out of nostalgia and back into the real world. His little turtle stared up at him in anticipation. Splinter quirked an eyebrow as if he didn’t know what the child wanted but then quickly jabbed his finger into Michelangelo’s side, targeting the soft region in between his shell. Michelangelo laughed maniacally, earning an annoyed glare from Raphael though he remained in his spot and attempted to rebuild the tower that had accidentally knocked over.

Splinter watched the frustrated turtle, knowing that Raphael would not dare attack Michelangelo – at least not in Splinter’s immediate presence. Fortunately, Splinter had found new distractions for the turtles – toys! Every child’s delight! Splinter had spent that last several months emptying out his rental storage unit, making every excuse he needed to retain as much of his possessions as possible. Their home had enough space to work with, even if Splinter had to construct creative organization systems to help maximize the storage. On one such cleaning run, Splinter came across a bag full of old baby toys being discarded with a note stating “Free! Please take!” So he did. It had been interesting watching each child’s interaction and what they gravitated to. 

Leonardo and Michelangelo did well with partnered play time even if Leonardo seemed to boss Michelangelo around…well the tone was bossy enough. Most of the turtles’ language was indecipherable babble but recognized words intermittently. At this point, the turtles were starting to resemble humans more than actual turtles with the exception of their appearance. 

Raphael preferred solitary play though still enjoyed wrestling with Leonardo, who was the only one who seemed to be a comparable physical match even with their size difference. Despite his small frame, Raphael’s strength was immense. He was the perfect incarnation of the not judging book covers idiom. 

Donatello, on the other hand, was still much a mystery to Splinter. While he followed instructions, demonstrating comprehension of human language, he had yet to speak – not a single word. He interacted minimally with his brothers though he showed signs of care especially when one of them was hurt. Splinter did take note of Donatello’s extremely inquisitive mind. Donatello was keen on studying everyone’s interaction patterns. When Splinter talked, he paid attention to his mouth movements, making careful observations of his lips’ shape, yet he did not attempt to mimic the sound. When reading a book, Donatello insisted that Splinter pointed to each word. He would even physically place Splinter’s finger on the page to “voice” his desire. Rather than building block towers or push toy trucks, Donatello immersed himself in puzzling, quite obsessively, over a toy mobile phone. Each button either counted the numbers back or played music depending on the setting. The music however wasn’t what captivated his attention. From what Splinter could tell, it seemed Donatello was trying to get inside the toy. Even that conclusion took a while for Splinter to piece together. Splinter tended to react hastily and would confiscate the toy when Donatello started banging the plastic phone against the floor. The action was usually met with a frustrated wail which subsided quickly into silent surrender. Once Donatello’s legs mastered walking, he began to run quickly to another area out of Splinter’s reach and resumed trying to unlock the secrets of the musical device. With limited tools (or mastery of fine motor skills), Donatello still diligently (yet unsuccessfully) persisted to find ways to open the phone. That turtle was certainly unique.

Shifting his gaze from Raphael, Splinter found Donatello in a corner with his face buried in a book. His eyes roamed over every detail as if he was decoding some hidden message. Splinter sighed. The rat felt he would never unlock the secrets of Donatello’s mind. On top of all of his unique qualities, Donatello was the most disconnected from Splinter. While the other turtles routinely sought Splinter’s attention through playtime or general affection, Donatello remained distant….not unlike the first night they met when Donatello chose to sleep at a safe distance from the stranger while the others sought his comfort. For the longest time Donatello would only approach Splinter was to get his meal and then retreat to his personal “sanctuary.” However, ever since the first book was read to him, Donatello refused to leave Splinter’s side. In fact, after finishing a book, Donatello would demand that it was read again or insisted on a different book – usually in the form of thrusting the book into Splinter’s face with pleading eyes. The gesture brought a smile to Splinter’s face as this was the most bonding the turtle tolerated from the rat. 

“Mo’!”

“Have you not had enough yet, Michelangelo?”

“Mo’!” he giggled his response.

“I’m sorry but your brothers need their bath as well.”

Picking up the bucket of water, he walked over to Leonardo and began his bathing/bonding time routine.

. . .

“Suita!”

Michelangelo rolled around while uttering pathetic whimpers. The normally happy-go-lucky turtle absolutely lacked patience once his belly hit empty. He laid on his back and flopped about. Soon grumbling bellies resulted in a chorus of pleas for food from his brothers. As Splinter stirred the small pot of boiling water, smashing the small bits of worm he had gathered. While not the most pleasant of odors, it was a far more nutritious meal than the rotted leftovers he found nor did it require the sacrifice of a rat. Once satisfied the meal was thoroughly stewed, Splinter shut off the knob on the camping stove and disconnected the little propane tank. He proceeded to fill up five bowls and set them on the small make shift table he had constructed. The turtles all gathered around and grabbed at their spoons. The sight was far from graceful performances as soup dribbled down their chins. Splinter at times wondered if the highly uncoordinated turtles were getting enough nutrition. However, just like any other child, they needed to master the skill through trial and error. 

Out of the corner of his, Splinter caught a glimpse of Donatello not touching his meal. Instead, the little turtle studying his ever favorite toy phone. Donatello methodically alternated between banging his toy phone against the table, shoving his nail into the screws but failing to turn them, and tried prying it with all is might to rip the device apart. Despite his unsuccessful attempts, Donatello was not deterred as he studied the toy, turning it around to study each angle. Then he once again resumed banging the phone against the table resulting in clattering bowls and stew sloshing over onto the table. With each collision, the puddle grew larger, especially around Donatello’s bowl. Thump! Splash! Thump! Splash! Thump!

“Enough!” Splinter bellowed. 

The turtles jumped at the sudden outburst. Michelangelo’s head retreated deep into his shell. Splinter reached out and grabbed Donatello’s toy away. The turtle’s eyes widened in horror although he uttered no cries of protest. The little turtle watched as Splinter placed the toy on one of the old scaffolds that was now used as a shelf. Splinter turned around and started walking back to the table. Donatello reached his arm out, opening and closing his hand. Stopping, Splinter studied the child though not giving any indication of understanding the gesture. After a few seconds Donatello stopped pumping his hand. He then pointed at the shelf containing his phone. Splinter shook his head at the silent request causing Donatello to withdraw his hand, perplexed. His eyes raced side to side as he searched for a solution. Once his eyes landed on his soup bowl, Donatello pulled the bowl close to him and systematically spooned the broth messily in his mouth. As soon as he finished his meal, Donatello returned his focus on Splinter and signaled for his phone’s return.

“Iie,” Splinter replied flatly. “Use your words and I will return your toy.”

Donatello only stared blankly at Splinter. No response – not even an inkling of whether he understood though deep down Splinter knew he did. Donatello just sat and waited and once in a while beckoned for his possession. Splinter stood his ground and refused to oblige the request. Had this occurred with Raphael or Michelangelo, the turtle would have broken down into a massive temper tantrum or incessant pleas. Donatello on the other hand exerted patience unnatural to a toddler. Donatello finally relinquished any hope of getting his toy back, turned around, picked up his spoon and began dropping it from various heights, observing how it clattered back against the table. Seemingly a fun game, Michelangelo began mimicking his brother’s actions, dropping his spoon into this bowl, splattering soup everywhere. Frustrated by the excessive mess, Splinter grabbed the spoon from Michelangelo and began feeding him in order to prevent any further spillage he was destined to clean.

. . .

Releasing a loud grunt, Splinter laid down on his bed. Exhaustion washed over him, drained both physically and mentally. Would it have been like this once Miwa entered her toddler years? At least she would have been one child. Four energetic children was a full time job, especially given their crafty schemes and rambunctious squabbles. Splinter’s eyelids slowly closed and was about to drift into the dream world when a bang pricked his ears up. His eyes shot open but refused to move. Silence. Splinter sighed – obviously exhausted to the point of being delusional. The rat settled back in and closed his eyes. Bang! 

_What in the hell?!_

Grumbling under his breath, Splinter slowly walked out of the bedroom, careful not to rouse the sleeping turtles. As he entered the main living space, he paused in his tracks. In the dark, he watched as Donatello held a ball in his hands and stared at the scaffold that held his beloved toy. Splinter remained still and nearly held his breath so Donatello would not notice him. With a massive heave, Donatello threw the ball straight up, hitting the ball against the wooden plank. The items all jumped slightly at the contact but the phone still remained out of Donatello’s reach. The turtle backed up and jumped up as if trying to find the phone’s current location but Splinter was unsure if Donatello was actually tall enough to even see the phone. 

Splinter continued to watch for several minutes as the turtle patiently and methodically threw the ball against the scaffold. Each bang forced the phone to jump just a little closer to the edge. Splinter sighed realizing that Donatello was not going to give up until he had his prized toy back. His heart sank as he pondered why Donatello resisted him so much, refusing to simply just ask for it. From the first day, Donatello was the one turtle who distrusted the rat the most. Despite warming up to Splinter slightly, he did wonder if it was for the sake of his brothers rather than truly acknowledging Splinter as his guardian. Something about this idea saddened him. Splinter truly cared for his turtles and all of them but one returned the sentiment. The interactions between Splinter and Donatello were superficial and limited purely to Donatello’s survival needs. If it wasn’t perceived as being a detriment of Donatello’s well-being, he wanted nothing to do with Splinter – an attitude so vastly different from Michelangelo. Even Raphael enjoyed one-on-one attention with Splinter. Too exhausted to unravel the mysteries of Donatello’s mind, Splinter resigned to sleep, leaving Donatello to continue his mission for the only object he actually gave a damn about.


	12. Puzzle Box

Chapter 12 – Puzzle Box

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Even through the groggy haze, Splinter’s ears did not miss the constant smashing of plastic on concrete. His ears danced about, seeking optimal auditory input while his mind fought to find a few more minutes of sleep. Yet the echoes beckoned him out of bed, forcing him to set up like a child not wanting to get ready for school. He pressed a knuckle hard against a bleary eye. Splinter stumbled into the main living area to find Donatello hitting is favorite toy on the floor while receiving constant encouragement from Michelangelo. Wait! – Splinter’s eyes flew between the toy and the shelf then to the ball resting against the nearby wall.

_How? How did he get a hold of the toy? How long did it take him? Did he even sleep?_

Stroking his chin, Splinter recalled how Donatello systematically threw the ball against the scaffold. The impact caused the phone to bounce and at the right angle, Donatello could direct the motion. Splinter surely underestimated the toddler’s will power and calculating mind.

Crossing his arms, Splinter continued to watch the two boys engaged in their activity and planned his next move. It would be a battle to convince Donatello to forget the toy long enough to eat; it was not a battle he cared to initiate. Donatello’s one track mind resulted in a stubbornness that could rival Raphael’s – minus the violent temper tantrum. As he continued to contemplate, Splinter made his way to the pantry (and by pantry, Splinter meant a small old toy chest that he stored small jars of food he prepared the night or two ago) to retrieve a couple of jars of boiled, chopped grass that slightly resembled conventional baby food. As he passed by the boys, he chanced a sideways glance at the boys to find a suspicious Donatello eying him as well. The moment he passed the boys and eye contact was broken, the banging resumed.

_Why was he so desperate to get inside the damned toy?_

With jars in hand, Splinter silently crept up behind the boys, using Donatello’s fascination with the toy to his advantage. When he was within reach, he swiftly plucked the toy from the tiny green fingers. Donatello instantly whirled around and protested loudly in the form of frantic squeals. Splinter raise his hand with only the index finger erected, and Donatello took the cue to be quiet as if knowing arguing was futile. Sitting down next to the youngsters, Splinter set a jar in front of Donatello while keeping the toy phone well out of the child’s reach. Donatello watched him curiously, moving his eyes from Splinter to the toy and back as if weighing his options. This turtle was far more rational than his impulsive brother next to him.

“You must have breakfast first,” Splinter stated matter-of-factly while watching carefully for Donatello’s reaction.

Uncertain silence hung thick in the air. Each one seemingly to contemplate their next move as if in an intense chess match. With a burst of sudden, swift reflex Donatello launched his body across the table to steal back what belonged to him. However, Splinter was much faster! With one sweep of his arm, he intercepted the turtle and sat him back down on the floor.

“First you eat…then I will return the toy.”

A cock of the eyebrow - well the upper ridge lining the eye socket – signified Donatello’s distrust. AS if he didn’t notice, Splinter picked up the jar and twisted the lid until the loud pop echoed through the chamber. Setting the jar back onto the table, Splinter used a single slender finger to push the jar closer to Donatello.

“I promise,” Splinter reassured the child.

Hesitantly, the turtle allowed Splinter to shove a spoonful of the green goo into his mouth. With a strained gulp Donatello swallowed and shivered as if a bug had crawled up his shell. Feeding Donatello was always a chore as he was the pickiest eater. Splinter suspected that Donatello had issues with texture, which his suspicions would be reinforced each time Donatello gagged on stewed grass or worms. On a couple of occasions Donatello outright vomited up his meal coating the table with a repulsive mix of ground up bugs, mold, grass, or whatever other creative mixtures Splinter scrounged up for the night.

“Very good, Donatello,” Splinter complimented as he prepared another spoonful.

As he lifted the spoon out of the jar, Splinter turned to meet a pair of puzzled brick-brown eyes. Donatello reached his hand out and gestured for his toy. Splinter froze in place while fighting to maintain his stoic demeanor. His throat went dry and his heart pounded hard.

_‘First you eat…then I will return the toy.’_

_‘First you eat…’_

And that Donatello had done. Splinter could not believe it. Was he really going to be outwitted by a child? Or was Donatello just too literal in the promise? Either way, Splinter was traversing on dangerous grounds. Calmly, Splinter offered a soft smile and held the spoonful of food before Donatello.

“Eat up so you can grow to be a big strong boy otherwise Raphael will catch up to you.”

The playful banter fell flat. Donatello’s face scrunched at the sight of the offending spoon but continued to eye the phone. 

“Donatello,” Splinter called firmly, drawing the turtle’s attention back to him. “First, eat.”

The turtle puffed up his cheek slightly and huffed through his nostrils, but he refused to open his mouth. A knot settled into Splinter’s stomach as the battle of wills began to escalate. Power struggles with Raphael were much easier to extinguish than with Donatello. Raphael’s temper was explosive but spontaneous that required a quick purposeful reaction to keep him in line. Donatello’s mentality, however, was far more purposeful. When the child knew what he wanted, he calculated the path to a positive outcome. This made Donatello quite independent and he absolutely loathed when he had to relinquish his freedom due to the inevitability of a toddler’s limitations. Now Donatello had analyzed his situation and realized the deal was not in his favor.

Splinter pressed the spoon against Donatello’s lips, which remained firmly shut. Wiggling the spoon gently up and down, Splinter tried to wedge the utensil into the mouth. With one swift, angry headshake, the spoon flew out of Splinter’s hand and clattered to the floor. Along with the spoon, Splinter’s patience completely flew out the window. Splinter pushed the food toward Michelangelo for him to enjoy but ignored Donatello’s pleas as he picked up the toy phone, shoved it into his scavenging satchel and proceeded to leave their home. He knew he couldn’t be gone long as Raphael and Leonardo would most likely awake in an hour, two at most, but he just couldn’t stay in the turtle’s presence. Fresh air and clarity would remedy his frayed nerves.

Splinter followed one of his normal scavenging routes but turned into a side tunnel that took him off the beaten path, so to speak. With tense muscles, Splinter walked at a brisk pace. His stiff arms barely swung by his sides; his hands balled into tight fists. He continued at this intensely stiff pace until he entered a large collection basin. Splinter sunk to the floor of the cold metal deck and stared into the rippling pool below him. The rushing sound of cascading water from a few side tunnels emptying into the basin was loud yet soothing. A few times Splinter found himself retreating to this space for a few moments of quiet – “me time.” Pulling his legs into a crisscross position, Splinter straightened his back and closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the recess of his mind.

Was it really fair for him to have been so frustrated with Donatello? The turtle was still a baby after all. He did set out fair and understandable guidelines for the child though. They weren’t infants, but toddlers that understood language and reasoning. They responded to different commands and could be rationalized with like any other toddler who is told not to touch an oven because it was hot and would burn the child. Donatello was told to eat first, and then he would have been rewarded.

_But he had eaten and the reward was withheld._

Releasing a defeated sigh Splinter realized that the contract was fulfilled on Donatello’s end. He ate, yet Splinter did not return the toy. 

Splinter pulled the device out of the old leather bag. Although there were previously shown signs over overuse – scuffs that can’t be cleaned, the writings on the buttons nearly wiped off completely – most of the dents and scrapes were the result of Donatello’s abuse. Narrowing his eyes, the sight filled Splinter with disdain. The rat fully intended on tossing the toy back into the trash when he went to the surface. The only thing that kept him from doing so at that moment was the daylight. While in the past he had ventured to the surface during the day, it certainly was not his favorite time to do so. There were reasons why ninjas cloaked themselves in black and ventured into the moonless night. That tradition was more obvious to him now in practice than just learning it from theory. 

Why did the toy bother Splinter so much? No, it wasn’t the toy; Donatello’s obsession unnerved him. No matter how much Splinter provided and cared for the boys, he could not establish a connection with this particular turtle. There was no foundation to build on their relationship and this toy seemed to drive a deeper wedge between them. 

_Would you think this way if it had been Miwa?_

That was a fair question. The little princess melted his heart the moment he laid eyes on her. Her soft skin, light wispy black hair, curious brown eyes, the intoxicating fresh baby scent – he loved everything about her. The very sight of her brightened even the hardest of days. Her giggles brought a smile to his face. No, he wouldn’t have put up the tough love front with her. That was impossible.

Then why do you hold Donatello to different standards?

_He’s different…._

_Why?_

_Because…._

_Why?_

_Because he is not my child!_

Raising his hands up, Splinter allowed his head to fall into them as if to hide his shame from the world. The turtles were his responsibility and each one had found a place in his heart though Donatello was still labeled a work in progress. It’s not that he didn’t care for Donatello’s well-being, however, with the lack of mutual trust, the turtle was just…part of a packaged deal. A pang of guilt struck his heart as Splinter could not deny the love he held for the other turtles. Despite how infuriating Raphael was and tested his patience Splinter still adored the hot-headed turtle. He just did not feel any connection with Donatello.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he closed his eyes. Flashes of happy images of the other turtles flipped through like a slide show – Michelangelo’s giddy face, Raphael’s cuddles during thunderstorms or when he was hurt, and Leonardo’s attempts to imitate Splinter. Each playtime brought a smile to his face but Donatello still eluded him even in his memories. Perhaps he was trying too hard. Donatello was detached even from their first meeting. Over time Donatello had started letting Splinter into his world, but it was purely on Donatello’s terms. It always has been. 

_How will he trust you if you keep forcing yourself on him? You betrayed his trust and punished him for it._

A groan ripped through his throat as he berated himself over his parenting abilities…or rather the lack of. Shaking the thoughts from his head, Splinter returned the phone to his satchel and began his walk of shame back home. While he was not ready to face Donatello, he did not want the others to worry over his absence, especially with Leonardo always hanging onto his “apron strings.” During his walk, Splinter mulled over the potential apologies he could offer along with the terms of a truce – ground rules for the future. His head was mapping out a speech just to instantly stoke it down. Leonardo’s incessant chirping wasn’t helping either…

…Wait!

Splinter froze in his tracks. Long ears twitched, listening intently while holding his breath to reduce background noisee. The echoes were undeniable – Leonardo was anxious. Splinter was still at a distance but still noted the crackling indicated that Leonardo was straining his voice as much as possible, calling for his guardian. Splinter would have dismissed the racket if it wasn’t the urgency behind the calls. He was not just calling out for attention but something had gone wrong while he was away. It’s the same sound he made when there was trouble just like that first night when Raphael was injured during his fall down the sewer grate. 

Without a second thought, Splinter’s legs sprinted back the gated off entryway. As he approached the makeshift barricade, a green head bobbed frantically up and down. Leonardo’s squawks were deafening as they rang throughout the small room. Upon seeing his guardian, Leonardo’s cries quickly shifted into a speedy, incoherent babbles sprinkled with a couple of distinct Japanese words with “Don-Don” squished in the middle.

“Donatello?” Splinter whispered as his soul froze ice cold.

Instantly, he hurdled over the boxes and began searching for the missing turtle all the while calling out to him. No response. Only a series of frightened whimpers from worried brothers. Splinter’s head started spinning as the distress ate away his rationality. That was until his eyes caught sight of a huge clue.

_That box wasn’t there before._

Splinter observed the cardboard box. It once had held “groceries” that he had rescued from a diner’s dumpster but now sat empty. At times the box served as a hiding spot for the playful turtles. Splinter approached the box and pushed it, noting that it was light enough for a child to push yet sturdy enough to support a toddler’s weight.

Splinter turned back to Leonardo and calmly inquired, “Which way did Donatello go?”

The babbles once again unintelligible, however the green index finger pointed the direction Donatello had gone. Splinter’s eyes went wide as the truth dawned on him. Donatello had attempted to follow him!

_Why had our paths not crossed though?!_

A stone settled into the pit of his stomach, its weight threatening to pull him to his knees. Had Donatello taken one of the side tunnels? How far had he deviated from the path? Splinter pinched the bridge of his nose as the questions assaulted his mind, dizzying to the point that he wanted to vomit.

_And what if he is still wandering, you fool?!_

Clearing his mind, Splinter gathered the three turtles together. Using hushed tones and soothing caresses, Splinter tried to calm them.

“Please do not fear, young ones. I will go search for Donatello. Please stay here and wait for me.”

Through their tears, the turtles nodded their acknowledgement. The brothers hugged each other for comfort; Michelangelo was crushed in the middle. Leonardo tried the best he could to reach his arms around and rub both Michelangelo’s and Raphael’s back but the attempt was awkward and resulting in Raphael receiving light slaps to the face. Toe consumed with fear, the temperamental turtle did not seem to mind the gesture. Certain that the turtles would not wander away, Splinter exited the lair in search of Donatello.

. . . 

Mutating into a rat definitely had its advantages and today he was even more thankful for this cursed fate. The benefit of having a dry home now gave rise to a disadvantage. Damp surfaces meant sludgy, muddy terrain. Mildew could be easily disrupted by a mobile body. These tunnels however were bone dry, proving it harder to track the turtle. Additionally, old tunnels intersected with newer ones. Certain areas were cluttered with debris but then the landscape shifted to immaculately maintained facilities that were obviously in use. Splinter had never explored these areas, never realized how closely he had been living near humans, exposing the turtles to imminent danger. That however was an issue for another day. 

At times, Splinter easily tracked the disturbances in the dust or pebbles knocked out of place. When those clues were not visible, Splinter relied on his keen sense of smell – a trait he lacked as a human. The turtles had a very unique scent – kind of marshy as if the swamp was embedded within their DNA. When Donatello’s tracks could not be seen, Splinter could sniff the youngster out. At one intersection, there no footprints to follow but Donatello’s scent lingered heavily in the air. He must have spent some time there as he deliberated which of the three paths to take. Splinter’s heart began racing again, clouding his judgment. Taking a deep breath, he recollected himself. Inching toward a tunnel, Splinter inhaled deeply, taking note of every detectable scent. He then proceeded to the next tunnel and did the same act though this time he picked up on another familiar scent: urine. The strong, putrid smell was the perfect giveaway. Donatello must have either stepped in it or sprayed himself while emptying the contents of his bladder onto the floor. Either way Splinter figured he must not have been too far behind Donatello as the scent hung heavy rather than completely dissipating into the air. He followed the odor while carefully scanning the ground for Donatello’s tracks.

_Beep, beep, beep!_

Halting in place, Splinter’s eyebrows furrowed as he twitched his ears about. The sound was distant, so distant that it almost went undetected. The echoes bounced off the walls held a mechanical ring to it.

_This cannot be happening…_

An exasperated groan threatened to escape his lips however now was not the time to panic. His mind fought to stay calm while his heart thumped rapidly at the thought of Donatello being discovered by humans. Side-stepping into the shadows, Splinter continued to follow Donatello’s tracks. He desperately wanted to be wrong but all signs pointed to the fact that Donatello did indeed follow this path. Inch by inch, the sound grew louder and the tunnel illuminated more. Soon voices accompanied the commotion. And tools…a drill perhaps. At any rate, it was definitely an active site and probably expanding. Will people eventually expand into their home? If he was smart about it, Splinter will not stick around long enough to find out.

From the shadows, Splinter surveyed the area, searching for any sign of the little overgrown turtle all the while being mindful of his proximity the construction workers. As he approached closer, he eavesdropped on the various conversations about dimensions, whether pipes or electrical wires hide behind the walls, what would set the schedule behind, and so on but not once was there the indication that a mutant turtle was discovered. So where was Donatello? 

_He couldn’t be amongst the humans…could he?_

But he had searched every inch of the tunnel leading up to the construction workers. The turtle had just disappeared. Wedging himself between a wall and some crates, Splinter carefully crouched down and peered around, looking for any clue. While he spied some potential hiding spots, he was in no position to start investigating any further. There were too many people to attempt to subdue on his own…never mind being taken out by a giant rat. Splinter clenched his fist as if to squeeze out his frustration. All he can do was lay low.

The wait was not restful though. Vigilance kept him on edge with every passing shadow being a possibility of being discovered. He carefully crept around from one spot to another to keep hidden while carefully checking for signs of Donatello. He began wondering if the turtle secretly moonlighted as a ninja as there was no longer any trace of him. If only the workers were cleared out, but no such luck. Lunch break meant the workers enjoyed their lunch on the spot while sharing stories and jokes, and then they were back on shift. This time the jackhammer became the favored tool, chipping angrily at the wall. Clouds of dust and debris filled the air. As the dust settled into his lungs, Splinter took care not to cough, silently and painfully choking back the urge. This continued until the day ended and the workers “punched out.” The tunnel fell silent and dark. The quiet abandon was most welcoming as a throbbing headache now thumped against his temple. Off to his side Splinter found a lantern and switched it on. He circled around the area but still no signs of the turtle or his tracks.

“Donatello!” Splinter’s voice echoed. He bit his lip and briefly wondered if it was too soon to call out loud. Had the humans ventured far enough away? What if they heard him? Would they return?

“Donatello!” 

Panic accompanied the echoes. Then silence took over.

_Fuck!_

“Donatello, where are you?!”

“Ta-ble…”

The voice was faint but near. Splinter whirled around and tried to spot the turtle but still nothing.

“Where are you?” Splinter asked again.

This time he was responded by soft grunts and frantic shuffling sounds. As he followed the sound he approached a work bench. Falling to his hands and knees Splinter peered under and was stunned to find Donatello firmly wedged between a wood beam and the ground. Dust covered him dulling his green skin to an ashy, almost grey tone. Donatello kicked and squirmed yet he did not budge. Wide terror filled eyes revealed the fear he held which in turn gave rise to more erratic movements as he tried to dislodge himself. However each movement sent sickly scraping sounds into the air as his shell pressed against the wood beam, firmly pinning him down.

“Stop moving!” Splinter urged sternly but calmly as to not excite the toddler further. “You will hurt yourself.”

Donatello complied, laying motionless except for his sharp, quick breaths. Reddish brown eyes followed Splinter as he walked around and tested the weight of the bench. A few lifts proved to be heavy but soon determined that a sudden burst of strength should be sufficient to lift the table.

“Donatello, I need you to listen carefully. I cannot hold the table long so when I lift it you must crawl out quickly. Do you understand?”

A weak response of “hai” escaped from under the table. 

Taking a deep breath, Splinter flexed his muscles, bent his knees and thrust his body upward and hoisted the bench high enough for the turtle to scurry out. Using his peripheral vision Splinter waited for Donatello to be far enough away from the bench before dropping it back in place, kicking the dust back up into the air. The little particles tickled the turtle’s nose, unleashing a series of sneezes. Splinter bent down in front of Donatello and checked him over. Scrapes and bruises dotted his arms and legs. His shell now had diagonal grooves that disturbed his circular patterns but otherwise his health was intact. As Splinter felt over Donatello’s body, the little turtle leaned into Splinter’s arms and pressed his head against a furry shoulder. It was not a hug – no arms attempted to embrace him – but the gesture was comforting for the both of them. The adventure obviously wore the little one out. Donatello normally kept his distance even when sleeping with Splinter. In this moment, however, he completely resigned himself to the soft, warm, furry embrace. Splinter drew him in closer and rested his cheek on Donatello’s round head and released a relieved sigh.

Pulling Donatello away, he looked down at the turtle, wanting to reprimand him but instead stroked his head and whispered, “Donatello, you cannot run off on your own. What if the humans saw you? I would not have been able to keep you safe. Come, let us go home.”

Splinter scooped the now half-asleep turtle. Donatello’s head bobbed around before resting onto Splinter’s shoulder. Soft puffs of breaths tickled through his fur almost how Miwa’s breaths used to sweep across his shoulder. As he turned to head back home, an item gleamed light into his eye. Splinter bent back down and picked up the item. A chuckle escaped his lips as he clutched it in his hand and walked home.

. . . 

The greetings Splinter received were less than enthusiastic as cranky, hungry turtles whined and wailed the minute he scaled over the box barrier. Feeding each hungry turtle was a tedious task as they fought for attention and attempts of stealing each other’s’ turn almost led to outright brawls. Once feeding time ended Splinter wiped each turtle down with wet cloths though decided that cleaning up the toys, which had been haphazardly strewn about, would wait for the morning. After tucking three of the turtles in for the night, Splinter carried Donatello to the common room and set him down between his legs. Then he picked up his satchel and withdrew from it the toy phone and the screwdriver he had found at the construction site. Donatello’s eyes widened in anticipation as he watched Splinter insert the screwdriver into the tiny holes in the back of the toy and turned the tool. As each screw fell out, the toy opened up more and more until the internal anatomy was exposed. The turtle gazed over the various wires, buttons, and circuitry as if a whole new world opened up to him. Splinter tilted his head so he could see the side of Donatello’s face. His long finger randomly pressed a button filling the room with music and lights blinked along to the rhythm. What Splinter did not know was that the lights danced as much on the inside as it did outside. Though what could not be seen before were the connections that caused the various interactions. Pressing a button caused a clamp to close onto a wire’s end, completing the circuit and allowing the sound and lights to dance harmoniously with each other. 

Intrigued by the sight, Splinter pressed another button closing another set of connections, resulting in a different song. Gleeful giggles rang out through Donatello’s throat. For once Splinter described Donatello as giddy. His wide smile pushed his cheeks up and narrowing his eyes as the cackling continued. With each new button revealing a new connection, Donatello scrunched up his body as his laughter grew and his excitement could not be contained. 

Smiling, Splinter relinquished control of the phone and allowed Donatello to explore the device for himself. Exhausted by the adventure, Splinter settled back, propping himself on his elbows. Donatello may have been reserved but he was fully aware of his surroundings. He had not completely disconnected himself from his environment or those within it but rather observed the world at his own pace. Donatello just processed things differently and although may have been slow to accept Splinter into his life, Splinter was just as guilty of not opening himself up fully to the turtle as well. Today Splinter made a connection of his own – accepting each turtle as their own individual and each personality needed to be nourished differently. Donatello was Splinter’s toy phone; he just needed to see inside Donatello’s mind and see the circuitry within.

Sleep had almost completely consumed him when a thought suddenly flashed through his mind. Splinter’s eyes snapped wide open as he stared at Donatello’s back. Splinter bit his lip as he contemplated a little experiment. It was risky but he needed to know…

Splinter plucked the phone out of Donatello’s hand almost resulting in a round of cries for the toy.

“If you want it back,” Splinter quickly interjected, “you must say ‘please.’”

Donatello sighed as if his deepest, darkest secret had been revealed but asked, “Pwease?”

Smiling softly, Splinter immediately returned the phone. The turtle snatched it back as if it almost lost forever and resumed studying what happened if he touched a new button. 

_You’re a slick one, Donatello. Secretive and mysterious. I may not fully understand how your mind works or what you are thinking about at a given time but I will help you with whatever you need in order to understand the world around you. I will be your guide so long as you guide me to what you need as well. I promise._


	13. Embrace

A/N: Finally! An update! I do hope to update more often but thank you all for patiently waiting as real life throws obstacles at me but fear not I have not given up on any of my works in progress. Happy reading!

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Chapter 13: Embrace

Too much! Everything! It was all just…too much. The gravity of it all weighed on his soul, exhausting every single brain cell. Splinter surveyed all that he had collected over the last year or so. Then there were all of his sentimental possessions from his past life that he salvaged. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Splinter pondered how he was ever going to relocate it all. Squeezing his eyes shut, tears stung behind his eyelids as he felt himself drowning him into an abyss of despair. This was supposed to be it – this was supposed to be their home! The time and energy spent to build their refuge was all in vain. But it could not be helped. Since stumbling on the construction site, Splinter had monitored the activity, which over time had begun to expand. His scavenging and hunting territory were now compromised, forcing him to take an alternate route until he once again encountered human activity. He was left with no choice but to vacate.

“Hm?” 

Splinter blinked back to reality as a tiny hand buried itself into the thick fur covering his leg. The soft touches tickled his skin, sending shivers through his body. Peering down, big sapphire eyes stared back, pleading for attention. The other hand hugged a little book close to the child’s chest and Splinter knew exactly what was coming next.

“Book, pease!” Leonardo chirped. Motivated to communicate effectively, Leonardo’s requests for reading time had increased, knowing full well he would have immediate access to language. While his vocabulary had been expanding, Leonardo’s word bank was limited due his obsession over one particular book. Therefore Splinter was forced to find new ways to illicit side conversations from the story in order to broaden Leonardo’s horizon. However it did not take away the fact that the book had grown into a monotonous routine and no matter how much he insisted on reading one of the newer stories sitting in their library, Leonardo adamantly refused. Unlike Raphael who would throw the mother of all tantrums, Leonardo was just persistent in his efforts - a quiet stubbornness, joined by silent pleas from crystal blue puppy eyes begging for attention. Sighing, Splinter sat down, crossed his legs, and offered Leonardo to sit on him. Perhaps a small distraction would help rejuvenate Splinter’s energy.

Leonardo scurried into the hairy lap and settled himself with a couple of butt wiggles. Enthusiastic giggles rang in Splinter’s ears. Out of the corner of his eye, a green blur ran toward him, colliding hard against his arm. Despite landing hard on his back, Michelangelo released a round of joyous squeals as he scrambled up and sat beside the large rat. Like Leonardo, Michelangelo showed a great affinity for language, motivated to express all the rambling thoughts that usually tumbled out of his mouth in jumbled babbles. Therefore Michelangelo had no reservations with inserting himself into every reading session – even the ones intended on being private moments – despite receiving burning death glares, like the one Leonardo was shooting him at that very moment. Splinter could not decipher whether Michelangelo was completely oblivious or willfully ignored the complaints. Either way, Michelangelo too had settled in and Leonardo was forced to endure the intrusion.

Holding the book up, Splinter read the cover “Are You My Mother?” Splinter continued to thumb through the pages as they followed the exploits of a little bird, trying to determine which of the various animals was his elusive mother. Along the way, Splinter mimicked the noises the animals would realistically make. Michelangelo giggled in amusement while Leonardo focused on replicating the same noise. After completing the last page and discovering the real mother (for probably the hundredth time), Splinter gently closed the book. Leonardo peered up, his sparkling blue eyes appearing puzzled.

“Mama?” he questioned. Then he pointed at Splinter’s face and asked, “Mama?”

Before he could say anything, Michelangelo gleefully chimed in, “Mama!”

The words caught in Splinter’s throat. How can he explain to these children that he was not their mother, that they had no mother…but then again…what was he to them?

A loud thunk vibrated through the tunnel, interrupting the silence. Everyone froze in place and all eyes turned toward the tunnel’s entrance. All held their collective breath. Splinter perked his ears and strained to hear the faintest of sounds. Then his face dropped when he confirmed his suspicions. It was faint, like a whisper, meaning they were still at some distance but it was undeniable – humans. Their conversation was unintelligible though it was obvious that they were indeed walking closer. Jumping to his feet, Splinter swooped up the boys and placed them up between two large crates – two in each. The turtles protested against the soon-to-be prisons; Splinter softly shushed them.

“Please, we must be quiet. Shh, shh, shh. It’s not safe right now.”

Leonardo was the first to quiet down and settled himself to the bottom of his box that he occupied with Michelangelo. In the second box Raphael and Donatello took the queue and did the same. Splinter draped a large linen sheet and prayed that the boys would remain still and silent. Swift and nimble, Splinter scaled the scaffolds until he reached the top. He pancaked his immense mass and scooted as far into the darkness as possible. From this location he could climb the remaining wall to the hole that he and Donatello had fallen through the first day they found the chamber. Splinter sighed as he stared at the hole. The remnants of the original canvas remained draped and as drafts blew from the nearby circulation vent the fabric swayed, locked forever in a phantom dance with the dust particles that seem to be perpetually suspended in the air. Sighing, Splinter could only wish there was enough time to grab the turtles and hoist them out but the risk of exposure was too high - not worth the potentially devastating end result. Instead Splinter turned his head until he could see through the gaps in the wood. Even though it was dim, the candle light would be sufficient in spying on the intruders…Wait!...Why didn’t he blow the candle out?!

_Shit!_

“This area was once part of a revitalization project…”

_Please be silent, my boys…_

The heart beats sped up as the humans climbed over the makeshift wall Splinter had erected. Due to its height, one of the men unceremoniously landed nearly on his face when his foot hooked around the edge of one of the boxes.

“What the hell?!”

The man’s annoyance boomed, echoing throughout the chamber yet somehow was muffled to Splinter’s ears. Perhaps because his pulse beated loudly in his ear. Peeking through the splintered wood he watched as the men surveyed around. The flashlights methodically scanned over the various items.

“Fucking hobos,” one man, the shorter of the two, complained. “Those morons should have surveyed this area before construction started.”

“It’s so out of the way,” the second man chimed in. “Probably thought no one would find it.”

The first man scoffed. “Puh-lease. Rats will always find these places. Wait ‘til winter. Sewers become swarming with them trying to find a warm place. Sometimes abandoned rooms like this one would become a rave hangout for teens…Huh? What was that?”

The man’s flashlight whipped to the crates. Splinter’s eyes widened as fear twisted his heart. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Thought I heard a sneeze. Someone might be down here…”

_No!_

Without a second thought (not that he had time for a first thought), Splinter rapidly swung down the scaffolds and ran up from behind the men. Grabbing both by the back of their necks, Splinter slammed them forward, pinning their bodies over the crate and pushed their head over the edge so that their face stared at the ground beyond the crate (and thus fully incapable of seeing their assailant). One man gasped as he struggled to catch his breath, however, Splinter refused to loosen his grip.

“You better let us go,” the short man demanded. “You’re trespassing on private property.”

“Is that so?” Splinter inquired sarcastically. “No signs had been posted.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerves,” the man strained out as he attempted to lift his throat off the edge of the box. “You street scum think you all can just make yourself at home wherever you want. Get a fucking job and make a living. Then maybe you can take care of yourself instead of freeloading off the city and setting up camp in construction zones. If you stay you’ll end up arrested. I guarantee it.”

“How far up does the construction zone go?”

The man paused though continued to struggle under Splinter’s grasp, searching for a way to freedom, but at their angle and partial air deprivation neither of the men was able to wiggle their way out.

“Pretty far. The reclamation zone is expanding. It’ll be several miles of tunnel starting from here and going east and intersects with the north quadrant.”

“What about south?” Splinter demanded.

“Nah. South is decrepit when you head far enough down that way. The infrastructure is old. Would need a lot of restructuring and reinforcements to make it usable. No way the city will spend that kind of money to fix it up.”

That was all Splinter needed to hear.

“I’ll make a deal with you. You leave now and I’ll be gone by morning. As far as you’re concerned you never saw me. Understand?”

“Deal.”

Releasing his grip, Splinter retreated back to the shadows and carefully watched the two men. The short man started to look around as if trying to identify his attacker.

“Leave!” Splinter commanded. 

The two men jumped at the command but complied, exiting without looking back. Waiting several minutes for the coast to be clear, Splinter anxiously stared from the shadows despite the soft whimpers emanating from the crates. Once confident they were safe, Splinter exhaled solemnly as he walked over to the two boxes and pushed the lids off. Four pairs of misty eyes stared at him. Red-eyed Michelangelo looked ready to unleash a giant meltdown. Splinter lifted him up and cradled him while swaying his body to comfort the tiny turtle.

“Mama,” he whimpered. Michelangelo must have started crying. While he couldn’t see the youngster’s face, Splinter felt his fur grow slightly damp.

“Mama!” Leo chirped next. Their two remaining brothers decided to join in the chorus, and now all of the turtles began begging for his attention. A gentle hand stroked each of their cheeks in turn as they reached out and attempted to grab his arm and pull him into an embrace. Why could he not have been mutated into an octopus?

Splinter sat Michelangelo down and pulled the rest of the boys out. Plopping down on the cold floor, Splinter leaned against one box and drew all four turtles close to him. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he contemplated how he would get the turtles out of there by the morning. What were the essentials he must take with him? Could he possibly salvage his possessions a second time? All of the months of hard work to rescue his belongings and set up a home were all in vain and he found himself back to square one. But what could he do? There was no other way out.

“Mama?”

Splinter looked down and peered into two sapphire pools, confused and questioning.

“No, Leonardo. I am not your mama.”

Leonardo furrowed his brows baffled by the statement.

“Otousan,” Splinter stated, pointing to himself. “Father….Otousan.”

Leonardo pressed his pudgy finger deep into Splinter’s fury chest. “Tou-ta?”

Splinter offered a weak smile. While amused by the attempt, Splinter’s mind was too preoccupied to appreciate the moment. “Yes, Otousan.”

The green finger then pointed to the exit. Leonardo squeaked out “eh?” unable to find a word for the source of their fear.

“Humans,” Splinter whispered. “We’ll be gone before they come back.”

Splinter opened his free arm allowing Leonardo to snuggle closer. Short chubby arms extended around Splinter’s chest to the limit of the toddler’s physical capability. Stroking the top of Leonardo’s head and the back of Michelangelo’s shell, Splinter mapped out his next steps. Slowly each turtle settled down, the sniffles and whimpers grew quieter replaced with soft deep slumbering breaths.

“Do not worry, my children. We will find a home. A place where no humans will ever find us. A place where we will always be safe. I promise.”


	14. Sanctuary

Chapter 14 - Sanctuary

“No more!” came the defiant declaration as Michelangelo flopped down to the damp sewer floor. Surprisingly, he chose not to drape his hand across his forehead as if a maiden in distress. The boy’s dramatics normally made it seem as if he was auditioning for a theatre production. “My legs hurt and can’t more no more.” 

Counter intuitively, the little turtle kicked his legs into the air, trying to prove their ineffectiveness to carry his body further. Alas, Splinter could not blame the child for his frustrations. Their nomadic life was taking a toll on all of them - both physically and emotionally. The boys had grown accustomed to knowing that no home was a permanent one. The boys had experienced the disappointed far too many times now to know better. Somehow during their infancy the trials seemed much easier. Despite the tediousness of coordinating the transport of four non-mobile infants, their blissful ignorance of the situation yielded far fewer complaints. Now they were at an age where despite being able to rationalize the situation it did little to assuage the barrage of “why” along with “we’re moving again” interlaced with “no fair” and “humans suck.” To top it off, their distinct personalities intensified their flare for dramatics and bickering. Verbally capable children certainly led to more headaches.

“Your legs are fine! See?”

Raphael bent his right knee and delivered a kick aimed for Michelangelo’s leg. Wide-eyed, Michelangelo curled his legs toward his stomach and rolled out of the way.

“Tousa! Raph tried to kick me!”

“I told ya his legs were fine!”

“Stop being rude, Raph!”

“Mind ya business, Leo!”

Splinter massaged the side of his head as his temple throbbed with each new shout – each voice systematically growing louder. The echoes amplified the commotion more in turned sending a fresh round of stabbing pain through his head.

“Enough!”

Silence immediately filled the tunnel save for the dripping water from the overhead pipes. Splinter pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled a deep, calming breath. As he exhaled slowly he turned to the turtles who now resembled statues.

“Fighting like this is counterproductive…”

“What does that mean?” Michelangelo interrupted

“Not helpful,” Splinter replied with a forced calm though he felt his blood pressure rising. “I am sorry that we must move a lot but turning on each other only adds to the stress. If you require a break…”

“We require a home,” Donatello muttered.

Splinter stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on the tallest turtle. “I know. How about we walk a bit further and find a more suitable place to rest? A drier place perhaps?”

The turtles groaned in unison but responded with a reluctant “okay.”

The mutant family pressed on though at a slower pace since the turtles trudged forward with their bodies slumped over from the exhaustion. Their demeanors changed though when one turn intersected with old railroad tracks. The bricks in these tunnels were weathered from time. Mildew clung in thick sheets on the wall. No signs of humans traversing these tunnels.

“Whoa! Check this out!” Michelangelo’s voice bounced off the walls. That boy really needed to learn not to run off on his own. At least he was still within eye-shot. Then he took a large leap forward and disappeared around the corner. 

Shaking his head at his brashness, Splinter followed after him. Rounding the corner, Splinter’s eyes widened at the sight. Turnstiles greeted him. Peering past them he found Michelangelo running further into the depths of the large room. Splinter pressed his hand against the cold metal and pushed through the entryway. Walking further in, he found a great room with stone benches. Cobwebs and dust draped the ceiling and walls. A sneeze startled him, and he turned to find Leonardo rubbing his snout. Raphael and Donatello though nowhere in sight.

Damn it! Which way could they have gone?

“Can this be my room?!”

Hearing Raphael’s voice at least alerted him to his location. Splinter followed the voice until he found the turtle in a room full of old wooden boxes, greyed from the dust. Who knows what else were lurking amongst the abandoned trash. 

“Tousan!” Michelangelo screeched as he raced into the room. “You have to see this!” 

Before he could respond, Michelangelo grabbed his hand and yanked backed. Splinter sighed as he humored the child and trailed behind him. Turning another corner he spotted the most unusual sight in a second corridor – an old, gnarly tree with lush green leaves filling the canopy. The contrasting color against the grey gave off a soothing, Zen-like aura. Peering down, he noticed the roots dug deep into the concrete floor. This puzzled the rat. Had the floors been built around the tree or had the roots penetrated through the floor? Either way, there was a water source feeding it. Upon further exploration, Splinter came across a pool - perhaps the same reservoir nourishing the tree. The old train station housed enough rooms to create bedrooms for each member of the family. Another room contained an old stove. If still viable, a proper kitchen could be set up. Could it be that his prayers have finally been answered? A sanctuary lost due to the passing of time? Forgotten to the human world?

Splinter returned to the first great room with the stone benches. There he found Donatello rolled into a ball with his legs tucked up to his chest; his arms embraced his knees. The Donatello was the most complacent of the children, rarely complaining about their misfortunes or about his brothers. Out of the four he was the only to not incessantly beg for rest. Instead he patiently waited for the scheduled breaks. Yet it was obvious the travels had drained him. From his knapsack Splinter pulled out an old bedsheet and covered the turtle’s body. His hand trailed up and gently caressed Donatello’s cheek.

“Otousan?”

Splinter turned to find Leonardo standing beside him, seeming hesitant to speak further.

“Yes, my child?”

“Can…can we stay here?”

“I think it would be best to make our camp here…”

“No,” Leonardo cut in but then sheepishly cringed at his actions. “I mean…I meant…can we stay here…forever?”

“Yeah, can we?” Michelangelo interjected. “It’s perfect.”

The rat inwardly laughed at Michelangelo’s definition of perfect. Although he could not deny that the old station was more than adequate to meet their needs. Yet his heart fluttered at the notion of whether it would be found by outsiders. Stroking his beard (or what passed as a beard hanging from his chin), Splinter could not recall the last time any human had crossed their path. He closed his eyes as he weighed the risk to benefit ratio. The benefits did seem to lean in their favor. When he opened his eyes, three pairs of eyes pleaded for a place to belong, a space to call their own. Their large puppy dog eyes melted his heart. He smiled warmly at them.

“It’ll take a lot of cleaning, but with time and hard work, I do believe this can become a proper home.”

Hopeful eyes turned to ecstatic glee as the boys yelled “yatta!” As Donatello shifted position, the boys quickly shushed each other, making sure to not disturb his slumber any further. Yet wide smiles displayed their joy which in turned pulled a grin on Splinter’s lips.

_It may take some time but I promise we will make this our home._


End file.
